/W^-*-!*. 


PS 


VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT 


BALLADS 


AND    OTHER    POEMS 


BY 

HENRY    WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 


NEW  YORK 
LOVELL  CORYELL    &   COMPANY 

3IO-3I8    SIXTH    AVBNUK 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SAN  DIEGO 

LA  JOLLA.  CALIFORNIA 


CONTENTS. 


PRELUDE 9 

VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

Hymn  to  the  Night 19 

A  Psalm  of  Life,          .         .        .        .        .        .21 

Th*:  Reaper  and  the  Flowers.    .         .  24 

The  Light  of  Stars, ?6 

Footsteps  of  Angels, 29 

Flowers,     ........     32 

The  Beleaguered  City,  .  ....     36 

Midnight  Mass  for  the  Dying  Year,  .         .         .40 

EARLIER  POEMS. 

An  April  Day, 47 

Autumn,    ........  50 

Woods  ir  Winter, 53 

Hymn^)f  the  Moravian  Nuns  of  Bethlehem,      .  55 

S&vrise  on  the  Hills,          .                                   .  58 
The  Spirit  of  Poetry,          .                  .         .         .61 

Burial  of  the  Minnisink,              .         ...  65 


4  CONTENTS 

TRANSLATIONS.  PAGB 

Coplas  de  Manrique,  .  .  .  .  -71 
The  Good  Shepherd,  .  .  .  .  .  101 
To-morrow,  .  .  •  .  .  .  .  .  107 
The  Native  Land,  .  .  .  .  .  .  105 

The  Image  of  God, 107 

The  Brook,         ......         .   109 

The  Celestial  Pilot,    .        .        .        .        .        .   m 

The  Terrestrial  Paradise,  .         »_    •    •         .         .114 
Beatrice,    .        .        .        .        .        .     •    .         .117 

Spring,       .         .        .         .         .         .         .         .121 

The  Child  Asleep,      .         .         .         .         .         .    123 

The  Grave,         .         .         .         .         .         *         .  125 

King  Christian,       -    .        «-       »         .         .         .128 

The  Happiest  La.iJ 131 

The  Wave, .134 

The  Dead, 135 

The  Bird  and  the  Ship,      .        «         .        •         .137 
Whither?  .         .         .        .        ...         .140 

Beware !     .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .   142 

Song  of  the  Bell,  t        .        .        .  144 

The  Castle  by  the  Sea, 146 

The  Black  Knight,     .        .        .        .        .        .149 

Song  of  the  Silent  Land, 153 

L'Envoi,     .      ...        .        .        .        .        .155 

BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS.  • 

Preface, 159 

The  Skeleton  in  Armour, 176 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,     ,         ,         .         .188 


CONTENTS.  5 

PACS 

The  Luck  of  Edenhall,       .        .        .         .        .194 

The  Elected  Knight, 198 

The  Children  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  .         .         .  202 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  Village  Blacksmith, 239 

Endymion, 242 

The  Two  Locks  of  Hair 245 

It  is  not  always  May, 247 

The  Rainy  Day, 249 

God's-Acre, 251 

To  the  River  Charles,          .         «         .         „         .  253 
Blind  Bartimeus,        ......  256 

The  Goblet  of  life.    .  ...  258 

Maidenhood,      .......  262 

Excelsior,  .......  266 

POEMS  ON  SLAVERY. 

To  William  E.  Channing,          ....  273 

The  Slave's  Dream, 275 

The  Good  Part,  that  shall  not  be  taken  away,  .  279 
The  Slave  in  the  Dismal  Swamp,  .  .  .  282 
The  Slave  singing  at  Midnight,  .  .  .  285 
The  Witnesses.  .....  287 

The  Quadroon  Girl, „  290 

The  Warning,   .,,,...  294 


PRELUDE. 


PRELUDE. 


PLEASANT  it  was,  when  woods  were  green, 

And  winds  were  soft  and  low, 
To  lie  amid  some  syivan  scene, 
Where,  the  long  drooping  boughs  between, 
Shadows  dark  and  sunlight  sheen 

Alternate  come  and  go  ; 

Or  where  the  denser  grove  receives 

No  sunlight  from  above, 
But  the  dark  foliage  interweaves 
In  one  unbroken  roof  of  leaves, 
Underneath  whose  sloping  eaves 

The  shadows  hardly  move. 


fo  PRELUDE. 

Beneath  some  patriarchal  tree 

I  lay  upon  the  ground  ; 
His  hoary  arms  uplifted  he, 
And  all  the  broad  leaves  over  m? 
Clapped  their  little  hands  in  glee. 

With  one  continuous  sound  ; — 

A  slumberous  sound, — a  sound  that  brings 

The  feelings  of  a  dream, — 
As  of  innumerable  wings, 
As,  when  a  bell  no  longer  swings, 
Faint  the  hollow  murmur  rings 

O'er  meadow,  lake,  and  stream. 

And  dreams  of  that  which  cannot  die, 

Bright  visions,  came  to  me, 
As  lapped  in  thought  I  used  to  lie, 
And  gaze  into  the  summer  sky, 
Where  the  sailing  clouds  went  by, 

Like  ships  upon  the  sea  j 


PRELUDE.  II 

Dreams  that  the  soul  of  youth  engage 

Ere  Fancy  has  been  quelled  ; 
Old  legends  of  the  monkish  page, 
Traditions  of  the  saint  and  sage, 
Tale  that  have  the  rime  of  age, 

And  chronicles  of  Eld. 

And,  loving  still  these  quaint  old  themes, 

Even  in  the  city's  throng 
I  feel  the  freshness  of  the  streams, 
That,  crossed  by  shades  and  sunny  gleams, 
Water  the  green  land  of  dreams, 

The  holy  land  of  song. 

Therefore,  at  Pentecost,  which  brings 
The  Spring,  clothed  like  a  bride, 

When  nestling  buds  unfold  their  wings, 

And  bisiiop's-caps  have  golden  rings, 

Musing  upon  many  things, 
I  sought  the  woodlands  wide. 


12  PRELUDE. 

The  green  trees  whispered  low  and  mild ; 

It  was  a  sound  of  joy  ! 
They  were  my  playmates  when  a  child, 
And  rocked  me  in  their  arms  so  wild ! 
Still  they  looked  at  me  and  smiled, 

As  if  I  were  a  boy  ; 

And  ever  whispered,  mild  and  low, 
"  Come,  be  a  child  once  more  !  " 

And  waved  their  long  arms  to  and  fro, 

And  beckoned  solemnly  and  slow  ; 

O,  I  could  not  choose  but  go 
Into  the  woodlands  hoar ; 

Into  the  blithe  and  breathing  air, 

Into  the  solemn  wood, 
Solemn  and  silent  everywhere  ! 
Nature  with  folded  hands  seemed  there, 
Kneeling  at  her  evening  prayer  ! 

Like  one  in  prayer  I  stood. 


PRELUDE.  I 

Before  me  rose  an  avenue 

Of  tall  and  sombrous  pines  ; 
Abroad  their  fan-like  branches  grew. 
And,  where  the  sunshine  darted  through, 
Spread  a  vapor  soft  and  blue, 

In  long  and  sloping  lines. 

And,  falling  on  my  weary  brain, 

Like  a  fast-falling  shower, 
The  dreams  of  youth  came  back  again  ; 
Low  lispings  of  the  summer  rain, 
Dropping  on  the  ripened  grain, 

As  once  upon  the  flower. 

Visions  of  childhood  !  Stay,  O  stay ! 

Ye  were  so  sweet  and  wild  ! 
And  distant  voices  seemed  to  say, 
"  It  cannot  be  !     They  pass  away  ! 
Other  themes  demand  thy  lay ; 

Thou  art  no  more  a  child  1 


14  PRELUDE. 

"  The  land  of  Song  within  thee  lies, 

Watered  by  living  springs  ; 
The  lids  of  Fancy's  sleepless  eyes 
Are  gates  unto  that  Paradise, 
Holy  thoughts,  like  stars,  arise, 
Its  clouds  are  angels'  wings. 

"  Learn,  that  henceforth  thy  song  shall  be, 

Not  mountains  capped  with  snow, 
Nor  forests  sounding  like  the  sea, 
Nor  rivers  flowing  ceaselessly, 
Where  the  woodlands  bend  to  see 
The  bending  heavens  below. 

"  There  is  a  forest  where  the  din 

Of  iron  branches  sounds  ! 
A  mighty  river  roars  between, 
And  whosoever  looks  therein 
Sees  the  heavens  all  black  with  sin, 

Sees  not  its  depths,  nor  bounds. 


PRELUDE,  15 

"  Athwart  the  swinging  branches  cast, 

Soft  rays  of  s'unshine  pour  ; 
Then  comes  the  fearful  wintry  blast ; 
Our  hopes,  like  withered  leaves,  fall  fast ; 
Pallid  lips  say,  '  It  is  past  ! 

We  can  return  no  more  ! ' 


"  Look,  then,  into  thine  heart,  and  write ! 

Yes,  into  Life's  deep  stream  I 
All  forms  of  sorrow  and  delight, 
All  solemn  Voices  of  the  Night, 
That  can  soothe  thee.  or  affright, — 
Be  these  henceforth  thy  theme." 


VOICES    OF    THE    NIGHT. 


HYMN   TO   THE   NIGHT. 


I  HEARD  the  trailing  garments  of  the  Night 
Sweep  through  her  marble  halls  ! 

I  saw  her  sable  skirts  all  fringed  with  light 
From  the  celestial  wails  I 

I  felt  her  presence,  by  its  spell  of  might, 

Stoop  o'er  me  from  above  ; 
The  calm,  majestic  presence  of  the  Night, 

As  of  the  one  I  love. 

I  heard  the  sounds  of  sorrow  and  delight, 

The  manifold,  soft  chimes, 
That  fill  the  haunted  chambers  of  the  Night, 

Like  some  old  poet's  rhymes. 


eo  HYMN  TO   THE  NIGHT. 

From  the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight  air 

My  spirit  drank  repose  ; 
The  fountain  of  perpetual  peace  flows  there. 

From  those  deep  cisterns  flows. 

O  holy  Night !  from  thee  I  learn  to  bear 

What  man  has  borne  before  ! 
Thou  layest  thy  finger  on  the  lips  of  Care, 

And  they  complain  no  more. 

Peace  I    Peace  !    Orestes-like    I    breathe    this 


prayer 


Descend  with  broad-winged  flight, 
The  welcome,  the  thrice-prayed  for,  the  most 

fair, 
The  best-beloved  Night ! 


A  PSALM   OF  LIFE. 


WHAT   THE   HEART   OF   THE    YOUNG   MAN   SAiO   TO    TH« 
PSALMIST. 


TELL  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 
"  Life  is  but  an  empty  dream !  " 

For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real !     Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
"  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest," 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 


22  VOICES  OF   THE  NIGHT. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle  ! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife  ! 


Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead ! 
Act, — act  in  the  living  Present ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead  1 


A  PSALM  OF  LIFE.  2J 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footsteps  on  the  sands  of  time  ;— 


Footsteps,  that  perhaps  another, 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate  ; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait 


THE  REAPER  AND  THE  FLOWERS 


THERE  is  a  Reaper,  whose  name  is  Death, 

And,  with  his  sickle  keen, 
He  reaps  the  bearded  grain  at  a  breath, 

And  the  flowers  that  grow  between. 

"  Shall  I  have  nought  that  is  fair  ?  "  saith  he  ; 

"  Have  nought  but  the  bearded  grain  ? 
Though  the  breath  of  these  flowers  is  sweet  t« 
me, 

I  will  give  them  all  back  again." 

He  gazed  at  the  flowers  with  tearful  eyes, 

He  kissed  their  drooping  leaves  ; 
It  was  for  the  Lord  of  Paradise 

He  bound  them  in  his  sheaves. 


THE  REAPER  AND   THE  FLOWERS.      2$ 

"  My  Lord  has  need  of  these  flowerets  gay," 

The  Reaper  said,  and  smiled  ; 
"  Dear  tokens  of  the  earth  are  they, 

Where  he  was  once  a  child. 

"  They  shall  all  bloom  in  fields  of  light, 

Transplanted  by  my  care, 
And  saints,  upon  their  garments  white, 

These  sacred  blossoms  wear." 

And  the  mother  gave,  in  tears  and  pain, 

The  flowers  she  most  did  love  ; 
She  knew  she  should  find  them  all  again 

In  the  fields  of  light  above. 

O,  not  in  cruelty,  not  in  wrath, 

The  Reaper  came  that  day  ; 
'T  was  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth. 

And  took  the  flowers  away. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  STARS. 


THE  night  is  come,  but  not  too  soon  ; 

And  sinking  silently, 
All  silently,  the  little  moon 

Drops  down  behind  the  sky. 

There  is  no  light  in  earth  or  heaven 
But  the  cold  light  of  stars  ; 

And  the  first  watch  of  night  is  given 
To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

Is  it  the  tender  star  of  love  ? 

The  star  of  love  and  dreams  ? 
O  no  !  from  that  blue  tent  above, 

A  hero's  armor  gleams. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  STARS, 

And  earnest  thoughts  within  me  riser 

When  I  behold  afar, 
Suspended  in  the  evening  skies, 

The  shield  of  that  red  star. 


0  star  of  strength  !  I  see  thee  stand 
And  smile  upon  my  pain  ; 

Thou  beckonest  with  thy  mailed  hand 
And  I  am  strong  again. 

Within  my  breast  there  is  no  light, 
But  the  cold  light  of  stars  ; 

1  give  the  first  watch  of  the  night 
To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

The  star  of  the  unconquered  will, 

He  rises  in  my  breast, 
Serene,  and  resolute,  and  still, 

And  calm,  and  self-possessed. 


28  VOICES  OF   THE  NIGHT. 

And  thou,  too,  whosoe'er  thou  art, 
That  readest  this  brief  psalm, 

As  one  by  one  thy  hopes  depart, 
Be  resolute  and  calm. 


O  fear  not  in  a  world  like  this, 
And  thou  shalt  know  ere  long, 

Know  how  sublime  a  thing  it  is 
To  suffer  and  be  strong. 


FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS. 


WHEN  the  hours  of  Day  are  numbered, 
And  the  voices  of  the  Night 

Wake  the  better  soul,  that  slumbered, 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight ; 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 
And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall. 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  fire-light 
Dance  upon  the  parlour  wall ; 

Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door  ; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted. 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more; 


30  VOICES  OF   THE  NIGHT. 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 
i  Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 

By  the  road-side  fell  and  perished, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life  1 


They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly, 
Who  the  cross  of  suffering  bore, 

Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly, 
Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more  J 


And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 

More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 


With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine, 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 


FOOTSTEPS   OF  ANGELS.  31 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like. 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 


Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended, 
Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended, 
B»  eathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 


O,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely. 
All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 

If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died  J 


FLOWERS. 


SPAKE  full  well,  in  language  quaint  and  olden. 

One  who  dwelleth  by  the  castled  Rhine, 
When  he  called  the  flowers,  so  blue  and  goldei\ 

Stars,  that  in  earth's  firmament  do  shine. 

Stars  they  are,  wherein  we  read  our  history, 

As  astrologers  and  seers  of  eld  ; 
Yet  not  wrapped  about  with  awful  mystery, 

Like  the  burning  stars,  which  they  beheld. 

Wondrous  truths,  and  manifold  as  wondrous, 
God  hath  written  in  those  stars  above  ; 

But  not  less  in  the  bright  flowerets  under  us 
Stands  the  revelation  of  his  love. 


FLOWERS.  ;«3 

Bright  and  glorious  is  that  revelation, 
Written  all  over  this  great  world  of  ours  ; 

Making  evident  our  own  creation, 

In  these  stars  of  earth, — these  golden  flowers. 


And  the  Poet,  faithful  and  far-seeing, 
Sees,  alike  in  stars  and  flowers,  a  part 

Of  the  self-same,  universal  being, 

Which  is  throbbing  in  his  brain  and  heart. 

Gorgeous  flowerets  in  the  sunlight  shining, 
Blossoms  flaunting  in  the  eye  of  day, 

Tremulous  leaves,  with  soft  and  silver  lining, 
Buds  that  open  only  to  decay ; 

Brilliant  hopes,  all  woven  in  gorgeous  tissues, 
Flaunting  gayly  in  the  golden  light ; 

Large  desires,  with  most  uncertain  issxiesr 
Tender  wishes,  blossoming  at  night ! 


34  VOICES  OF   THE  NIGHT. 

These  in  flowers  and  men  are  more  than  seem 

mgJ 
Workings  are  they  of  the  self-same  powers, 

Which  the  Poet,  in  no  idle  dreaming, 
Seeth  in  himself  and  in  the  flowers. 

Everywhere  about  us  are  they  glowing. 
Some  like  stars,  to  tell  us  Spring  is  born ; 

Others,  their  blue  eyes  with  tears  o'erflowing, 
Stand  like  Ruth  amid  the  golden  corn ; 

Not  alone  in  Spring's  armorial  bearing, 
And  in  Summer's  green-emblazoned  field, 

But  in  arms  of  brave  old  Autumn's  wearing, 
In  the  centre  of  his  brazen  shield  ; 

Not  alone  in  meadows  and  green  alleys, 
On  the  mountain- top,  and  by  the  brink 

Of  sequestered  pools  in  woodland  valleys, 
Where  the  slaves  of  Nature  stoop  to  drink ; 


FLOWERS.  35 

Not  alone  in  her  vast  dome  of  glory, 
Not  on  graves  of  bird  and  beast  alone, 

But  in  old  cathedrals,  high  and  hoary, 
On  the  tombs  of  heroes,  carved  in  stone  ; 

In  the  cottage  of  the  rudest  peasant, 

In  ancestral  homes,  whose  crumbling  towers, 

Speaking  of  the  Past  unto  the  Present, 
Tell  us  of  the  ancient  Games  of  Flowers  ; 

In  all  places,  then,  and  in  all  seasons, 

Flowers  expand  their  light  and  soul-like  wings. 

Teaching  us,  by  most  persuasive  reasons, 
How  akin  they  are  to  human  things. 

And  with  childlike,  credulous  affection 
We  behold  their  tender  buds  expand  ; 

Emblems  of  our  own   great  resurrection, 
ErnWems  of  the  bright  and  better  land. 


THE   BELEAGUERED   CITY. 


I  HAVE  read,  \n  some  old  marvellous  tale. 

Some  legend  strange  and  vague, 
That  a  midnight  host  of  spectres  pale 

Beleaguered  the  walls  of  Prague. 

Beside  the  Moldau's  rushing  stream, 
With  the  wan  moon  overhead, 

There  stood,  as  in  an  awful  dream, 
The  army  of  the  dead. 

White  as  a  sea-fog,  landward  bound. 

The  spectral  camp  was  seen, 
And,  with  a  sorrowful,  deep  sound. 

The  river  flowed  between. 


THE  BELEAGUERED   CITY.  37 

No  other  voice  nor  sound  was  there, 

No  drum,  nor  sentry's  pace  ; 
The  mist-like  banners  clasped  the  air, 

As  clouds  with  clouds  embrace. 


But,  when  the  old  cathedral  bell 
Proclaimed  the  morning  prayer, 

The  white  pavilions  rose  and  fell 
On  the  alarmed  air. 


Down  the  broad  valley  fast  and  far 

The  troubled  army  fled  ; 
Up  rose  the  glorious  morning  star, 

The  ghastly  host  was  dead. 

I  have  read,  in  the  marvellous  heart  of  man, 

That  strange  and  mystic  scroll, 
That  an  army  of  phantoms  vast  and  wan 

Beleaguer  the  human  soul. 


VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

Encamped  beside  Life's  rushing  stream, 

In  Fancy's  misty  light, 
Gigantic  shapes  and  shadows  gleam 

Portentous  through  the  night. 


Upon  its  midnight  battle-ground 
The  spectral  camp  is  seen, 

And,  with  a  sorrowful,  deep  sound, 
Flows  the  River  of  Life  between. 


No  other  \  oice,  nor  sound  is  there, 

In  the  army  of  the  grave  ; 
No  other  challenge  breaks  the  air, 

But  the  rushing  of  Life's  wave. 

And,  when  the  solemn  and  deep  church  bell 

Entreats  the  soul  to  pray, 
The  midnight  phantoms  feel  the  spell, 

The  shadows  sweep  away. 


THE  BELEAGUERED    CITY.  39 

Down  the  broad  Vale  of  Tears  afar 

The  spectral  camp  is  fled  ; 
Faith  shineth  as  a  morning  star, 

Our  ghastly  fears  are  dead. 


MIDNIGHT   MASS    FOR  THE  DYING 
YEAR. 


YES,  the  Year  is  growing  old, 
And  his  eye  is  pale  and  bleared ! 

Death,  with  frosty  hand  and  cold, 
Plucks  the  old  man  by  the  beard, 
Sorely, — sorely  ! 

The  leaves  are  falling,  falling, 

Solemnly  and  slow  ; 
**  Caw  !  caw  !  "  the  rooks  are  calling, 

It  is  a  sound  of  woe, 
A  sound  of  woe ! 


MIDNIGHT  MASS  FOR  THE  DYING  YEAR.    41 

Through  woods  and  mountain  passes 
The  winds,  like  anthems,  roll  ; 

They  are  chanting  solemn  masses, 
Singing  ;  "  Pray  for  this  poor  soul, 
Pray, — pray  !  " 

And  the  hooded  clouds,  like  friars, 
Tell  their  beads  in  drops  of  rain, 

And  patter  their  doleful  prayers  ; — • 
But  their  prayers  are  all  in  vain, 
All  in  vain  ! 

There  he  stands  in  the  foul  weather, 

The  foolish,  fond  Old  Year, 
Crowned  with  wild  flowers  and  with  heather, 

Like  weak,  despised  Lear, 
A  king, — a  king  ! 

Then  comes  the  summer-like  day, 

Bids  the  old  man  rejoice  ! 
His  joy  !  his  last  !  O,  the  old  man  gray, 

Loveth  that  ever-soft  voice, 
Gentle  and  low. 


42  VOICES  OF   THE  NIGHT. 

To  the  crimson  woods  he  saith, — 
To  the  voice  gentle  and  low 

Of  the  soft  air,  like  a  daughter's  breath,- 
"  Pray  do  not  mock  me  so  ! 
Do  not  laugh  at  me  !  " 

And  now  the  sweet  day  is  dead ; 

Cold  in  his  arms  it  lies  ; 
No  stain  from  its  breath  is  spread 

Over  the  glassy  skies, 
No  mist  or  stain  ! 

Then,  too,  the  Old  Year  dieth, 
And  the  forests  utter  a  moan, 

Like  the  voice  of  one  who  crieth 
In  the  wilderness  alone, 
"  Vex  not  his  ghost !  " 

Then  comes,  with  an  awful  roar, 
Gathering  and  sounding  on, 

The  storm-wind  from  Labrador, 
The  wind  Euroclydon, 
The  storm-wind  J 


MIDNIGHT  MASS  FOR  THE  D* ING  YEAR.    43 

Howl  !  howl  !  and  from  the  forest 

Sweep  the  red  leaves  away  ! 
Would,  the  sins  that  thou  abhorrest, 

O  Soul !  could  thus  decay, 
And  be  swept  away  ! 

For  there  shall  come  a  mightier  blast, 

There  shall  be  a  darker  day  ; 
And  the  stars,  from  heaven  down-cast. 
Like  red  leaves  be  swept  away ! 
Kyrie,  eleysoa  ? 
Christe,  eleyson  I 


EARLIER  POEMS. 


.These  poems  were  written  for  the  most  part  during 
my  college  life,  and  all  of  them  before  the  age  of  nine 
teen.  Some  have  found  their  way  into  schools,  and 
seem  to  be  successful.  Others  lead  a  vagabond  and 
precarious  existence  in  the  corners  of  newspapers  ;  or 
have  changed  their  names  and  run  away  to  seek  their 
fortunes  beyond  the  sea.  1  say,  with  the  Bishop  of 
Avranches,  on  a  similar  occasion  :  "  I  cannot  be  dis 
pleased  to  see  these  children  of  mine,  which  I  have 
neglected,  and  almost  exposed,  brought  from  their 
wanderings  in  lanes  and  alleys,  and  safely  lodged,  in 
order  to  go  forth  into  the  world  together  in  a  more  de 
corous  garb."] 


AN   APRIL  DAY- 


WHEN  the  warm  sun,  that  brings 
Seed-time  and  harvest,  has  returned  agaiN, 
'T  is  sweet  to  visit  the  still  wood,  where  spring* 

The  first  flower  of  the  plain. 

I  love  the  season  well, 
When   forest   glades    are   teeming  with    bright 

forms, 
Nor  dark  and  many-folded  clouds  foretell 

The  coming-on  of  storms. 

From  the  earth's  loosened  mould 
The  sapling  draws  its  sustenance,  and  thrives  ; 
Though    stricken    to    the    heart   with    winter's 
cold, 

The  drooping  tree  revives. 


48  EARLIER  POEMS. 

The  softly-warbled  song 
Comes  from  the  pleasant  woods,  and  colored 

wings 
Glance  quick  in  the  bright  sun.,  that  moves  along 

The  forest  openings. 

When  the  bright  sunset  fills 
The  silver  woods  with  light,  the  green  slope 

throws 
Its  shadows  in  the  hollows  of  the  hills. 

And  wide  the  upland  glows. 

And,  when  the  eve  is  born, 
In  the  blue  lake  the  sky,  o'er-reaching  far, 
Is  hollowed  out,  and  the  moon  dips  her  horn. 

And  twinkles  many  a  star. 

Inverted  in  the  tide, 
Stand  the  gray  rocks,  and  trembling  shadowi 

throw, 

the  fair  trees  look  over,  side  by  side, 
And  see  themselves  below. 


At:   AiRIL   DAY.  49 

Sweet  April ! — many  a  thought 
f  s  v/edded  unto  thee,  as  hearts  are  wed  ; 
Nor  shall  they  fail,  till,  to  its  autumn  brought, 

Life's  golden  fruit  is  shed. 

4 


AUTUMN. 


WITH  what  a  glory  comes  and  goes  the  year  I 
The  buds  of  spring,  those  beautiful  harbingers 
Of  sunny  skies  and  cloudless  times,  enjoy 
Life's   newness,   and   earth's   garniture   spread 

out ; 

And  when  the  silver  habit  of  the  clouds 
Comes  down  upon  the  autumn  sun,  and  with 
A  sober  gladness  the  old  year  takes  up 
His  bright  inheritance  cf  golden  fruity, 
A  pomp  and  pageant  llil  the  splendid  scene. 

There  is  a  beautiful  spirit  breathing  now 
Its  mellow  richness  on  the  clustered  trees,, 
And,  from  a  beaker  full  of  richest  dyes, 


AUTUMN.  51 

Pouring  new  glory  on  the  autumn  woods, 
And  dipping  in  warm  light  the  pillared  clouds. 
Morn  on  the  mountain,  like  a  summer  bird, 
Lifts  up  her  purple  wing,  and  in  the  vales 
The  gentle  wind,  a  sweet  and  passionate  wooer, 
Kisses  the  blushing  leaf,  and  stirs  up  life 
Within   the   solemn  woods  of  ash    deep-crim« 

soned, 

And  silver  beech,  and  maple  yellow-leaved, 
Where  autumn,  like  a  faint  old  man,  sits  down 
By  the  wayside  a-weary.     Through  the  trees 
The  golden  robin  moves.     The  purple  finch, 
That  on  wild  cherry  and  red  cedar  feeds, 
A  winter  bird,  comes  with  its  plaintive  whistle, 
And  pecks  by  the  witch-hazel,  whilst  aloud 
From  cottage  roofs  the  warbling  blue-bird  sings, 
And  merrily,  with  oft-repeated  stroke, 
Sounds  from  the  threshing-floor  the  busy  flail. 

O  what  a  glory  doth  this  world  put  on 
For  him  who,  with  a  fervent  heart,  goes  forth 


52  EARLIER  POEMS. 

Under  the  bright  and  glorious  sky,  and  looks 
On  duties  well  performed,  and  days  well  spent ! 
For  him  the  wind,  ay,  and  the  yellow  leaves 
Shall  have  a  voice,  and  give  him  eloquent  teach 

ings. 

He  shall  so  hear  the  solemn  hymn,  that  Death 
Has  lifted  up  for  all,  that  he  shall  go 
To  his  long  resting-place  without  a  tear. 


WOODS  IN  WINTER. 


WHEN  winter  winds  are  piercing  chill, 

And  through  the  hawthorn  blows  the  gale< 

With  solemn  feet  I  tread  the  hill, 
That  overbrows  the  lonely  vale. 

O'er  the  bare  upland,  and  away 

Through  the  long  reach  of  desert  woods- 

The  embracing  sunbeams  chastely  play, 
And  gladden  these  deep  solitudes. 

Where,  twisted  round  the  barren  oak, 
The  summer  vine  in  beauty  clung, 

And  summer  winds  the  stillness  broke. 
The  crystal  icicle  is  hung. 


54  EARLIER  POEMS 

Where,  from  their  frozen  urns,  mute  springs 
Pour  out  the  river's  gradual  tide, 

Shrilly  the  skater's  iron  rings, 

And  voices  fill  the  woodland  side. 

Alas  !  how  changed  from  the  fair  scene, 
When  birds  sang  out  their  mellow  lay, 

And  winds  were  soft,  and  woods  were  green. 
And  the  song  ceased  not  with  the  day. 

But  still  wild  music  is  abroad, 

Pale,  desert  woods  !  within  your  crowd  ; 
And  gathering  winds,  in  hoarse  accord, 

Amid  the  vocal  reeds  pipe  loud. 

Chill  airs  and  wintry  winds  !  my  ear 
Has  grown  familiar  with  your  song ; 

I  hear  it  in  the  opening  year, — • 
I  listen,  and  it  cheers  me  long. 


HYMN  OF  THE  MORAVIAN  NUNS   Ol< 
BETHLEHEM, 

AT  THE  CONSECRATION  OF  PULASKl'S  BANNER. 


WHEN  tht  dying  flame  of  day 
Through  the  chancel  shot  its  ray, 
Far  the  glimmering  tapers  shed 
Faint  light  on  the  cowled  head  ; 
And  the  censer  burning  swung, 
Where,  before  the  altar,  hung 
The  blood-red  banner,  that  with  prayer 
Had  been  consecrated  there. 

And  the  nun's  sweet  hymn  was  heard  the  while, 
Sung  low  in  the  dim,  mysterious  aisle. 


$6  EARLIER  POEMS. 

*'  Take  thy  banner  !     May  it  wave 
Proudly  o'er  the  good  and  brave ; 
When  the  battle's  distant  wail 
Breaks  the  sabbath  of  our  vale, 
When  the  clarion's  music  thrills 
To  the  hearts  of  these  lone  hills, 
When  the  spear  in  conflict  shakes, 
And  the  strong  lance  shivering  breaks 

"  Take  thy  banner  !  and,  beneath 
The  battle-cloud's  encircling  wreath, 
Guard  it ! — till  our  homes  are  free  i 
Guard  it ! — God  will  prosper  thee  ! 
In  the  dark  and  trying  hour, 
In  the  breaking  forth  of  power, 
In  the  rush  of  steeds  and  men, 
His  right  hand  will  shield  thee  then. 

**  Take  thy  banner  !     But,  when  night 
Closes  round  the  ghastly  fight, 


HYMN   OF    THE  MORA  VI AN  NUNS.         57 

If  the  vanquished  warrior  bow, 

Spare  him  ! — By  our  holy  vow, 

By  our  prayers  and  many  tears, 

By  the  mercy  that  endears, 

Spare  him  ! — he  our  love  hath  shared  ! 

Spare  him  ! — as  thou  wouldst  be  spared  ! 

"  Take  thy  banner  ! — and  if  e'er 
Thou  shouldst  press  the  soldier's  bier, 
And  the  muffled  drum  should  beat 
To  the  tread  of  mournful  feet, 
Then  this  crimson  flag  shall  be 
Martial  cloak  and  shroud  for  thee." 


The  warrior  took  that  banner  proud, 
And  it  was  his  martial  cloak  and  shroud  ! 


SUNRISE   ON    THE   HILLS. 


I  STOOD  upon  the  hills,  when  heaven's  wide 

arch 

Was  glorious  with  the  sun's  returning  march, 
And  woods  were  brightened,  and  soft  gales 
Went  forth  to  kiss  the  sun-clad  vales. 
The  clouds  were  far  beneath  me  ; — bathed  in 

light, 
They   gathered    mid-way   round    the    wooded 

height, 

And,  in  their  fading-glory,  shone 
Like  hosts  in  battle  overthrown, 
As  many  a  pinnacle,  with  shifting  glance, 
Through  the  gray  mist  thrust  up  its  shattered 

lance, 


SUNRISE   ON  THE  HILLS.  59 

And  rocking  on  the  cliff  was  left 
The  dark  pine  blasted,  bare,  and  cleft. 
The  veil  of  cloud  was  lifted,  and  below 
Glowed  the  rich  valley,  and  the  river's  flow 
Was  darkened  by  the  forest's  shade, 
Or  glistened  in  the  white  cascade  ; 
Where  upward,  in  the  mellow  blush  of  day, 
The  noisy  bittern  wheeled  his  spiral  way. 


I  heard  the  distant  waters  dash, 
I  saw  the  current  whirl  and  flash, — 
And  richly,  by  the  blue  lake's  silver  beach, 
The  woods  were  bending  with  a  silent  reach. 
Then  o'er  the  vale,  with  gentle  swell, 
The  music  of  the  village  bell 
Came  sweetly  to  the  echo-giving  hills  ; 
And  the  wild  horn,  whose  voice  the  woodland 

fills, 

Was  ringing  to  the  merry  shout, 
That  faint  and  far  the  glen  sent  out. 


60  EARLIER  POEMS. 

Where,    answering   to   the   sudden   shot,    thin 

smoke, 
Through  thick-leaved  branches,  from  the  din 

gle  broke. 

If  thou  art  worn  and  hard  beset 
With  sorrows,  that  thou  wouldst  forget, 
If  thou  wouldst  read  a  lesson,  that  will  keep 
Thy   heart   from   fainting   and   thy   soul   from 

sleep, 

Go  to  the  woods  and  hills  ! — No  tear? 
Dim  the  sweet  look  that  Nature  we*«. 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   POETRY. 


THERE  is  a  quiet  spirit  in  these  woods, 

That    dwells    where'er  the    gentle    south   wind 

blows  ; 
Where,    underneath    the    white-thorn,    in    the 

glade, 

The  wild  flowers  bloom,  or,  kissing  the  soft  air, 
The  leaves  above  their  sunny  palms  outspread. 
With  what  a  tender  and  impassioned  voice 
It  fills  the  nice  and  delicate  ear  of  thought, 
When  the  fast-ushering  star  of  morning  comes 
O'er-riding  the  gray  hills  with  golden  scarf; 
Or  when  the  cowled  and  dusky-sandaled  Eve, 
In  mourning  weeds,  from  out  the  western  gate 


62  EARLIER  POEMS. 

Departs  with  silent  pace  !     That  spirit  moves 
In  the  green  valley,  where  the  silver  brook, 
From  its  full  laver,  pours  the  wide  cascade  ; 
And,  babbling  low  amid  the  tangled  woods, 
Slips  down  through   moss-grown  stones  with 

endless  laughter. 

And  frequent,  on  the  everlasting  hills, 
Its  feet  go  forth,  when  it  doth  wrap  itself 
In  all  the  dark  embroidery  of  the  storm, 
And  shouts  the  stern,  strong  wind.     And  here. 

amid 

The  silent  majesty  of  these  deep  woods, 
Its   presence   shall    uplift    thy   thoughts   from 

earth, 

As  to  the  sunshine  and  the  pure,  bright  air 
Their  tops  the  green  trees  lift.     Hence  gifted 

bards 

Have  ever  loved  the  calm  and  quiet  shades. 
For  them  there  was  an  eloquent  voice  in  all 
The  sylvan  pomp  of  woods,  the  golden  sun, 
The  flowers,  the  leaves,  the  river  on  its  way, 


THE  SPIRIT  OF   POETRY.  63 

Blue    skies,    and    silver    clouds,    and    gentle 

winds, — 

The  swelling  upland,  where  the  sidelong  sun 
Aslant  the  wooded  slope,  at  evening,  goes, — 
Groves,  through   whose  broken    roof  the   sky 

looks  in, 

Mountain,  and  shattered  cliff,  and  sunny  vale, 
The  distant  lake,  fountains, — and  mighty  trees. 
In  many  a  lazy  syllable,  repeating 
Their  old  poetic  legends  to  the  wind. 

And  this  is  the  sweet  spirit,  that  doth  fill 
The  world  ;    and,   in  these   wayward  days  oi 

youth, 

My  busy  fancy  oft  embodies  it, 
As  a  bright  image  of  the  light  and  beauty 
That  dwell  in  nature, — of  the  heavenly  forms 
We  worship  in  our  dreams,  and  the  soft  hues 
That  stain  the  wild  bird's  wing,  and  flush  tho 

clouds 
When  the  sun  sets.     Within  her  eye 


64  EARLIER  POEMS. 

The  heaven  of  April,  with  its  changing  light, 
And  when  it  wears  the  blue  of  May,  is  hung, 
And  on  her  lip  the  rich,  red  rose.     Her  hair 
Is  like  the  summer  tresses  of  the  trees. 
When  twilight  makes  them  brown,  and  on  hei 

cheek 

Blushes  the  richness  of  an  autumn  sky, 
With  ever-shifting  beauty.     Then  her  breath. 
It  is  so  like  the  gentle  air  of  Spring, 
As,  from  the  morning's  dewy  flowers,  it  comes 
Full  of  their  fragrance,  that  it  is  a  joy 
To  have  it  round  us, — and  her  silver  voice 
Is  the  rich  music  of  a  summer  bird, 
Heard    in   the    still  night,  with  its  passionate 

cadence. 


BURIAL  OF  THE  MINNISINK. 


ON  sunny  slope  and  beechen  swell, 
The  shadowed  light  of  evening  fell  ; 
And,  where  the  maple's  leaf  was  brown. 
With  soft  and  silent  lapse  came  down 
The  glory,  that  the  wood  receives, 
At  sunset,  in  its  brazen  leaves. 

Far  upward  in  the  mellow  light 
Rose  the  blue  hills.     One  cloud  of  white, 
Around  a  far  uplifted  cone, 
In  the  warm  blush  of  evening  shone  ; 
An  image  of  the  silver  lakes, 
By  which  the  Indian's  soul  awakes. 


66  EARLIER  POEMS. 

But  soon  a  funeral  hymn  was  heard 
Where  the  soft  breath  of  evening  stirred 
The  tall,  gray  forest  ;  and  a  band 
Of  stern  in  heart,  and  strong  in  hand, 
Came  winding  down  beside  the  wave, 
To  lay  the  red  chief  in  his  grave. 

They  sang,  that  by  his  native  bowers 
He  stood,  in  the  last  moon  of  flowers, 
And  thirty  snows  had  not  yet  shed 
Their  glory  on  the  warrior's  head  ; 
But,  as  the  summer  fruit  decays, 
So  died  he  in  those  naked  days. 

A  dark  cloak  of  the  roebuck's  skin 
Covered  the  warrior,  and  within 
Its  heavy  folds  the  weapons,  made 
For  the  hard  toils  of  war,   svere  laid  ; 
The  cuirass,  woven  of  plaited  reeds, 
And  the  broad  belt  of  shells  and  beads. 


BURIAL    OF    THE  MINNISINK.  67 

Before,  a  dark-haired  virgin  train 
Chanted  the  death  dirge  of  the  slain  ; 
Behind,  the  long  procession  came 
Of  hoary  men  and  chiefs  of  fame, 
With  heavy  hearts,  and  eyes  of  grief, 
Leading  the  war-horse  of  their  chief. 

Stripped  of  his  proud  and  martial  dress, 
Uncurbed,  unreined,  and  riderless, 
With  darting  eye,  and  nostril  spread, 
And  heavy  and  impatient  tread, 
He  came  ;  and  oft  that  eye  so 
Asked  for  his  rider  in  the  crowd. 


They  buried  the  dark  chief ;  the?'  freed 
Beside  the  grave  his  battle  steed  ; 
And  swift  an  arrow  cleaved  its  way 
To  his  stern  heart  !     One  piercing  rv^ifh 
Arose, — and,  on  the  dead  man's  plain, 
The  rider  grasps  his  steed  again. 


TRANSLATIONS 


\Don  Jorge  Manrique,  the  author  of  the  following  poem, 
flourished  in  the  last  half  of  the  fifteenth  century. 
He  followed  the  profession  of  arms,  and  died  on  the 
field  of  battle.  Mariana,  in  his  History  of  Spain, 
makes  honorable  mention  of  him,  as  being  present  at 
the  siege  of  Ucle"s  ;  and  speaks  of  him  as  "  a  youth  of 
estimable  qualities,  who  in  this  war  gave  brilliant  proofs 
of  his  valor.  He  died  young  ;  and  was  thus  cut  off  from 
long  exercising  his  great  virtues,  and  exhibiting  to  the 
world  the  light  of  his  genius,  which  was  already  known 
to  fame."  He  was  mortally  wounded  in  a  skirmish 
near  Canavete,  in  the  year  1479. 

The  name  of  Rodrigo  Manrique,  the  father  of  the 
poet,  Conde  de  Paredes  and  Maestre  de  Santiago,  is 
well  known  in  Spanish  history  and  song.  He  died  in 
1476  ;  according  to  Mariana,  in  the  town  of  Ucles ;  but, 
according  to  the  poem  of  his  son,  in  Ocana.  It  was 
his  death  that  called  forth  the  poem  upon  which  rests 
the  literary  reputation  of  the  younger  Manrique.  In  the 
•language  of  his  historian,  "  Don  Jorge  Manrique,  in  an 
elegant  Ode,  full  of  poetic  beauties,  rich  embellish 
ments  of  genius,  and  high  moral  reflections,  mourned 
the  death  of  his  father  as  with  a  funeral  hymn."  This 
praise  is  not  exaggerated.  The  poem  is  a  model  in  its 
kind.  Its  conception  is  solemn  and  beautiful ;  and,  in 
accordance  with  it,  the  style  moves  on  —  calm,  dig 
nified,  and  majestic.] 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE. 


FROM    THE    SPANISH. 


O  LET  the  soul  her  slumbers  break, 
Let  thought  be  quickened,  and  awake  ; 
Awake  to  see 

How  soon  this  life  is  past  and  gone, 
And  death  comes  softly  stealing  on, 
How  silently  ! 

Swiftly  our  pleasures  glide  away, 
Our  hearts  recall  the  distant  day 
With  many  sighs  ; 

The  moments  that  are  speeding  fast 
We  heed  not,  but  the  past, — the  past, — 
More  highly  prize. 


72  TRANSLATIONS. 

Onward  its  course  the  present  keeps, 
Onward  the  constant  current  sweeps, 
Till  life  is  done  ; 

And,  did  we  judge  of  time  aright, 
The  past  and  future  in  their  flight 
Would  be  as  one. 

Let  no  one  fondly  dream  again, 
That  Hope  and  all  her  shadowy  train 
Will  not  decay  ; 

Fleeting  as  were  the  dreams  of  old, 
Remembered  like  a  tale  that  's  told, 
They  pass  away. 

Our  lives  are  rivers,  gliding  free 
To  that  unfathomed,  boundless  sea, 
The  silent  grave  ! 

Thither  all  earthly  pomp  and  boast 
Roll,  to  be  swallowed  up  and  lost 
In  one  dark  wave. 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  73 

Thither  the  mighty  torrents  stray, 

Thither  the  brook  pursues  its  way, 

And  tinkling  rill. 

There  all  are  equal.      Side  by  side 

The  poor  man  and  the  son 

Lie  calm  and  still. 


I  will  not  here  invoke  the  throng 

Of  orators  and  sons  of  song, 

The  deathless  few ; 

Fiction  entices  and  deceives, 

And,  sprinkled  o'er  her  fragrant  leaves, 

Lies  poisonous  dew. 

To  One  alone  my  thoughts  arise, 

The  Eternal  Truth, — the  Good  and  Wise, 

To  Him  I  cry, 

Who  shared  on  earth  our  common  lot, 

But  the  world  comprehended  not 

His  deity. 


74  TRANSLATIONS. 

This  world  is  but  the  rugged  road 
Which  leads  us  to  the  bright  abode 
Of  peace  above  ; 

So  let  us  choose  that  narrow  way, 
Which  leads  no  traveller's  foot  astray 
From  realms  of  love. 

Our  cradle  is  the  starting-place, 
In  life  we  run  the  onward  race, 
And  reach  the  goal ; 
When,  in  the  mansions  of  the  blest. 
Death  leaves  to  its  eternal  rest 
The  weary  soul. 

Did  we  but  use  it  as  we  ought, 

This     world    would     school    each    wandering 

thought 

To  its  high  state. 

Faith  wings  the  soul  beyond  the  sky, 
Up  to  that  better  world  on  high, 
For  which  we  wait 


CO  PL  AS  DE  MANRIQUE.  75 

Yes, — the  glad  messenger  of  love, 
To  guide  us  to  our  home  above, 
The  Saviour  came  ; 
Born  amid  mortal  cares  and  fears, 
He  suffered  in  this  vale  of  tears 
A  death  of  shame. 

Behold  of  what  delusive  worth 
The  bubbles  we  pursue  on  earth, 
The  shapes  we  chase, 
Amid  a  world  of  treachery  ! 
They  vanish  ere  death  shuts  the  eye, 
And  leave  no  trace. 


Time  steals  them  from  us, — chances  strange, 

Disastrous  accidents,  and  change, 

That  come  to  all  ; 

Even  in  the  most  exalted  state, 

Relentless  sweeps  the  stroke  of  fate  ; 

The  strongest  fall. 


76  TRANSLA  TIONS. 

Tell  me,— the  charms  that  lovers  seek 
In  the  clear  eye  and  blushing  cheek, 
The  hues  that  play 
O'er  rosy  lip  and  brow  of  snow, 
When  hoary  age  approaches  slow, 
Ah,  where  are  they  ? 

The  cunning  skill,  the  curious  arts, 

The  glorious  strength  that  youth  imparts 

In  life's  first  stage  ; 

These  shall  become  a  heavy  weight, 

When  Time  swings  wide  his  outward  gate 

To  weary  age. 

The  noble  blood  of  Gothic  name, 
Heroes  emblazoned  high  to  fame, 
In  long  array  ; 

How,  in  the  onward  course  of  time, 
The  landmarks  of  that  race  sublime 
Were  swept  away  1 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQVE.  77 

Some,  the  degraded  slaves  of  lust, 
Prostrate  and  trampled  in  the  dust, 
Shall  rise  no  more  ; 
Others,  by  guilt  and  crime,  maintain 
The  scutcheon,  that,  without  a  stain, 
Their  fathers  bore. 


Wealth  and  the  high  estate  of  pride, 

With  what  untimely  speed  they  glide, 

How  soon  depart ! 

Bid  not  the  shadowy  phantoms  stay, 

The  vassals  of  a  mistress  they, 

Of  fickle  heart. 


These  gifts  in  Fortune's  hands  are  found 
Her  swift  revolving  wheel  turns  round, 
And  they  are  gone  ! 
No  rest  the  inconstant  goddess  knows, 
But  changing,  and  without  repose, 
Still  hurries  on. 


78  TRANSLATIONS. 

Even  could  the  hand  of  avarice  save 
Its  gilded  baubles,  till  the  grave 
Reclaimed  its  prey, 
Let  none  on  such  poor  hopes  rely  ; 
Life,  like  an  empty  dream,  flits  by, 
And  where  are  they  ? 

Earthly  desires  and  sensual  lust 

Are  passions  springing  from  the  dust, — 

They  fade  and  die  ; 

But,  in  the  life  beyond  the  tomb, 

They  seal  the  immortal  spirit's  doom 

Eternally ! 

The  pleasures  and  delights,  which  mask 
In  treacherous  smiles  life's  serious  task, 
What  are  they,  all, 
But  the  fleet  coursers  of  the  chase, 
And  death  an  ambush  in  the  race, 
Wherein  we  fall  ? 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  79 

No  foe,  no  dangerous  pass,  we  heed, 
Brook  no  delay, — but  onward  speed 
With  loosened  rein  ; 
And,  when  the  fatal  snare  is  near, 
We  strive  to  check  our  mad  career, 
But  strive  in  vain. 


Could  we  new  charms  to  age  impart, 
And  fashion  with  a  cunning  art 
The  human  face, 

As  we  can  clothe  the  soul  with  light, 
And  make  the  glorious  spirit  bright 
With  heavenly  grace, — 

How  busily  each  passing  hour 
Should  we  exert  that  magic  power ! 
What  ardor  show, 
To  deck  the  sensual  slave  of  sin, 
Yet  leave  the  freeborn  soul  within,, 
In  weeds  of  woe  ! 


TRANSLATIONS. 

Monarchs,  the  powerful  and  the  strong, 

Famous  in  history  and  in  song 

Of  olden  time, 

Saw,  by  the  stern  decrees  of  fate, 

Their  kingdoms  lost,  and  desolate 

Their  race  sublime. 


Who  is  the  champion  ?  who  the  strong  ? 

Pontiff  and  priest,  and  sceptred  throng  ? 

On  these  shall  fall 

As  heavily  the  hand  of  Death, 

As  when  it  stays  the  shepherd's  breath 

Beside  his  stall. 

I  speak  not  of  the  Trojan  name, 

Neither  its  glory  nor  its  shame 

Has  met  our  eyes  ; 

Nor  of  Rome's  great  and  glorious  dead, 

Though  we  have  heard  so  oft,  and  read, 

Their  histories. 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  81 

Little  avails  it  now  to  know 
Of  ages  passed  so  long  ago, 
Nor  how  they  rolled  ; 
Our  theme  shall  be  of  yesterday, 
Which  to  oblivion  sweeps  away, 
Like  days  of  old. 


Where  is  the  King,  Don  Juan  ?     Where 

Each  royal  prince  and  noble  heir 

Of  Aragon  ? 

Where  are  the  courtly  gallantries  ? 

The  deeds  of  love  and  high  emprise, 

In  battle  done? 


Tourney  and  joust,  that  charmed  the  eyes 
And  scarf,  and  gorgeous  panoply, 
And  nodding  plume, — 
What  were  they  but  a  pageant  scene  ? 
What  but  the  garlands,  gay  and  green, 

That  deck  the  ton.'j  ? 
6 


82  TRANSLATIONS. 

Where  are  the  high-born  dames,  and  where* 

Their  gay  attire,  and  jewelled  hair, 

And  odors  sweet  ? 

Where  are  the  gentle  knights,  that  came 

To  kneel,  and  breathe  love's  ardent  flame, 

Low  at  their  feet  ? 


Where  is  the  song  of  Troubadour  ? 

Where  are  the  lute  and  gay  tambour 

They  loved  of  yore  ? 

Where  is  the  mazy  dance  of  old, 

The  flowing  robes,  inwrought  with  gold, 

The  dancers  wore  ? 

And  he  who  next  the  sceptre  swayed, 
Henry,  whose  royal  court  displayed 
Such  power  and  pride  ; 
O,  in  what  winning  smiles  arrayed, 
The  world  its  various  pleasures  laid 
His  throne  beside  ! 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  83 

But  O !  how  false  and  full  of  guile 
That  world,  which  wore  so  soft  a  smile 
But  to  betray  ! 

She,  that  had  been  his  friend  before, 
Now  from  the  fated  monarch  tore 
Her  charms  away. 

The  countless  gifts, — the  stately  walls, 

The  royal  palaces,  and  halls 

All  filled  with  gold  ; 

Plate  with  armorial  bearings  wrought, 

Chambers  with  ample  treasures  fraught 

Of  wealth  untold  ; 

The  noble  steeds,  and  harness  bright, 
And  gallant  lord,  and  stalwart  knight, 
In  rich  array,  — 

Where  shall  we  seek  them  now  ?     Alas  ! 
Like  the  bright  dewdrops  on  the  grass, 
They  passed  away. 


84  TRANSLA  T1ONS. 

His  brother,  too,  whose  factious  zeal 
Usurped  the  sceptre  of  Castile, 
Unskilled  to  reign  ; 
What  a  gay,  brilliant  court  had  he, 
When  all  the  flower  of  chivalry 
Was  in  his  train  ! 


But  he  was  mortal ;  and  the  breath, 

That  flamed  from  the  hot  forge  of  Death, 

Blasted  his  years  ; 

Judgment  of  God  !  that  flame  by  thee, 

When  raging  fierce  and  fearfully, 

Was  quenched  in  tears  t 

Spain's  haughty  Constable, — the  great 
And  gallant  Master, — cruel  fate 
Stripped  him  of  all. 
Breathe  not  a  whisper  of  his  pride,— 
He  on  the  gloomy  scaffold  died, 
Ignoble  fall ! 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  85 

The  countless  treasures  of  his  care, 
Hamlets  and  villas  green  and  fair, 
His  mighty  power, — 
What  were  they  all  but  grief  and  shame, 
Tears  and  a  broken  heart,  when  came 
The  parting  hour  ? 

His  other  brothers,  proud  and  high, 
Masters,  who,  in  prosperity, 
Might  rival  kings  ; 
Who  made  the  bravest  and  the  best 
The  bondsmen  of  their  high  behest, 
Their  underlings  ; 

What  was  their  prosperous  estate. 
When  high  exalted  and  elate 
With  power  and  pride  ? 
What,  but  a  transient  gleam  of  light, 
A  flame,  which,  glaring  at  its  height, 
Grew  dim  and  died  ? 


86  TRANSLATIONS. 

So  many  a  duke  of  royal  name, 
Marquis  and  count  of  spotless  fame, 
And  baron  brave, 

That  might  the  sword  of  empire  wield, 
All  these,  O  Death,  hast  thou  concealed 
In  the  dark  grave  ! 

Their  deeds  of  mercy  and  of  arms, 
In  peaceful  days,  or  war's  alarms, 
When  thou  dost  show, 
O  Death,  thy  stern  and  angry  face, 
One  stroke  of  thy  all-powerful  mace 
Can  overthrow. 

Unnumbered  hosts,  that  threaten  nigh, 
Pennon  and  standard  flaunting  high, 
And  flag  displayed ; 
High  battlements  intrenched  around, 
Bastion,  and  moated  wall,  and  mound, 
And  palisade, 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  87 

And  covered  trench,  secure  and  deep,— 

All  these  cannot  one  victim  keep, 

O  Death,  from  thee, 

When  thou  dost  battle  in  thy  wrath, 

And  thy  strong  shafts  pursue  their  path 

Unerringly. 

O  World  !  so  few  the  years  we  live, 

Would  that  the  life  which  thou  dost  give 

Were  life  indeed  ! 

Alas  !  thy  sorrows  fall  so  fast, 

Our  happiest  hour  is  when  at  last 

The  soul  is  freed. 

Our  days  are  covered  o'er  with  grief, 

And  sorrows  neither  few  nor  brief 

Veil  all  in  gloom  ; 

Left  desolate  of  real  good,  i 

Within  this  cheerless  solitude 

No  pleasures  bloom. 


88  TRANSLATIONS. 

Thy  pilgrimage  begins  in  tears, 
And  ends  in  bitter  doubts  and  fears, 
Or  dark  despair ; 
Midway  so  many  toils  appear, 
That  he  who  lingers  longest  here 
Knows  most  of  care. 


Thy  goods  are  bought  with  many  a  groan, 

By  the  hot  sweat  of  toil  alone, 

And  weary  hearts  ; 

Fleet-footed  is  the  approach  of  woe, 

But  with  a  lingering  step  and  slow 

Its  form  departs. 

And  he,  the  good  man's  shield  and  shade, 
To  whom  all  hearts  their  homage  paid, 
As  Virtue's  son, — 
Roderic  Manrique, — he  whose  name 
[s  written  on  the  scroll  of  Fame, 
Spain's  champion  ; 


CO  PL  AS  DE  MANRIQUE.  89 

His  signal  deeds  and  prowess  high 

Demand  no  pompous  eulogy, — 

Ye  saw  his  deeds  ! 

Why  should  their  praise  in  verse  be  sung  ? 

The  name,  that  dwells  on  every  tongue, 

No  minstrel  needs. 


To  friends  a  friend  ; — how  kind  to  all 
The  vassals  of  this  ancient  hall 
And  feudal  fief ! 

To  foes  how  stern  a  foe  was  he  ! 
And  to  the  valiant  and  the  free 
How  brave  a  chief! 

What  prudence  with  the  old  and  wise  ; 

What  grace  in  youthful  gayeties ; 

In  all  how  sage  ! 

Benignant  to  the  serf  and  slave, 

He  showed  the  base  and  falsely  brave 

A  lion's  rage. 


TRANSLA  TIONS. 

His  was  Octavian's  prosperous  star, 

The  rush  of  Caesar's  conquering  car 

At  battle's  call  ; 

His,  Scipio's  virtue  ;  his,  the  skill 

And  the  indomitable  will 

Of  Hannibal. 


His  was  a  Trajan's  goodness, — his 

A  Titus'  noble  charities 

And  righteous  laws  ; 

The  arm  of  Hector,  and  the  might 

Of  Tully,"  to  maintain  the  right 

In  truth's  just  cause  ; 

The  clemency  of  Antonine, 
Aurelius*  countenance  divine, 
Firm,  gentle,  still; 
The  eloquence  of  Adrian, 
And  Theodosius'  love  to  man, 
And  generous  will  j 


COP  LAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  91 

In  tented  field  and  bloody  fray,  ' 

An  Alexander's  vigorous  sway 

And  stern  command  ; 

The  faith  of  Constantine  ;  ay,  more. 

The  fervent  love  Camillus  bore 

His  native  land. 


He  left  no  well-filled  treasury, 

He  heaped  no  pile  of  riches  high, 

Nor  massive  plate  ; 

He  fought  the  Moors, — and,  in  their  fall. 

Villa  and  tower  and  castled  wall 

Were  his  estate. 

Upon  the  hard-fought  battle-ground, 
Brave  steeds  and  gallant  riders  found 
A  common  grave  ; 

And  there  the  warrior's  hand  did  gain 
The  rents,  and  the  long  vassal  t*ain, 
The  conquered  gave. 


:  TRAXSLA  7 IONS. 

And  if,  of  old,  his  halls  displayed 
The  honored  and  exalted  grade 
His  worth  had  gained, 
So,  in  the  dark,  disastrous  hour, 
Brothers  and  bondsmen  of  his  power 
His  hand  sustained. 


After  high  deeds,  not  left  untold, 

In  the  stern  warfare,  which  of  old 

'T  was  his  to  share, 

Such  noble  leagues  he  made,  that  more 

And  fairer  regions,  than  before, 

His  guerdon  were. 

These  are  the  records,  half  effaced, 

Which,  with  the  hand  of  youth,  he  traced 

On  history's  page  ; 

But  with  fresh  victories  he  drew 

Each  fading  character  anew 

In  his  old  age. 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  93 

By  his  unrivalled  skill,  by  great 
And  veteran  service  to  the  state, 
By  worth  adored, 
He  stood,  in  his  high  dignity, 
The  proudest  knight  of  chivalry, 
Knight  of  the  Sword. 

He  found  his  villas  and  domains 
Beneath  a  tyrant's  galling  chains 
And  cruel  power  ; 
But,  by  fierce  battle  and  blockade, 
Soon  his  own  banner  was  displayed 
From  every  tower. 

By  the  tried  valor  of  his  hand, 

His  monarch  and  his  native  land 

Were  nobly  served  ; — 

Let  Portugal  repeat  the  story, 

And  proud  Castile,  who  shared  the  glory 

His  arms  deserved 


94  TRANSLATIONS. 

And  when  so  oft,  for  weal  or  woe, 

His  life  upon  the  fatal  throw 

Had  been  cast  down  ; 

When  he  had  served,  with  patriot  zeals 

Beneath  the  banner  of  Castile, 

His  sovereign's  crown ; 

And  done  such  deeds  of  valor  strong, 

That  neither  history  nor  song 

Can  count  them  all ; 

Then,  on  Ocana's  castled  rock, 

Death  at  his  portal  came  to  knock, 

With  sudden  call, — 

Saying,  "  Good  Cavalier,  prepare 
To  leave  this  world  of  toil  and  care 
With  joyful  mien  ; 

Let  thy  strong  heart  of  steel  this  day 
Put  on  its  armor  for  the  fray, — 
The  closing  scene. 


CO  PL  AS  DE  MANRIQUE.  95 

'*  Since  thou  hast  been,  in  battle-strife, 
So  prodigal  of  health  and  life, 
For  earthly  fame, 
Let  virtue  nerve  thy  heart  again  ; 
Loud  on  the  last  stern  battle-plain 
They  call  thy  name. 

"  Think  not  the  struggle  that  draws  neai 
Too  terrible  for  man, — nor  fear 
To  meet  the  foe  ; 
Nor  let  thy  noble  spirit  grieve, 
Its  life  of  glorious  fame  to  leave 
On  earth  below. 


A  life  of  honor  and  of  worth 

Has  no  eternity  on  earth, — 

'T  is  but  a  name  ; 

And  yet  its  glory  far  exceeds 

That  base  and  sensual  life,  which  leads 

To  want  and  shame. 


96  TRANSLATIONS. 

41  The  eternal  life,  beyond  the  sky, 
Wealth  cannot  purchase,  nor  the  high 
And  proud  estate  ; 

The  soul  in  dalliance  laid, — the  spirit 
Corrupt  with  sin, — shall  not  inherit 
A  joy  so  great. 

"  But  the  good  monk,  in  cloistered  cell, 
Shall  gain  it  by  his  book  and  bell, 
His  prayers  and  tears  ; 
And  the  brave  knight,  whose  arm  endures 
Fierce  battle,  and  against  the  Moors 
His  standard  rears. 

"  And   thou,   brave   knight,    whose   hand   has 

poured 

The  life-blood  of  the  Pagan  horde 
O'er  all  the  land, 

In  heaven  shalt  thou  receive,  at  length, 
The  guerdon  of  thine  earthly  strength 
And  dauntless  hand. 


CO  PL  AS  DE  MANRIQUE.  9? 

•    Cheered  onward  by  this  promise  sure. 
Strong  in  the  faith  entire  and  pure 
Thou  dost  profess, 
Depart, — thy  hope  is  certainty,— 
The  third — the  better  life  on  high 
Shalt  thou  possess." 

'   O  Death,  no  more,  no  more  delay  \ 
My  spirit  longs  to  flee  away, 
And  be  at  rest ; 

The  will  of  Heaven  my  will  shall  be,— 
I  bow  to  the  divine  decree, 
To  God's  behest. 


My  soul  is  ready  to  depart, 

No  thought  rebels,  the  obedient  heart 

Breathes  forth  no  sigh  ; 

The  wish  on  earth  to  linger  still 

Were  vain,  when  't  is  God's  sovereign  will 

That  we  shall  die. 
7 


98  TRANSLATIONS. 

11  O  thou,  that  for  our  sins  didst  take 
A  human  form,  and  humbly  make 
Thy  home  on  earth  ; 
Thou,  that  to  thy  divinity 
A  human  nature  didst  ally 
By  mortal  birth, 

'*  And  in  that  form  didst  suffer  here 
Torment,  and  agony,  and  fear, 
So  patiently ; 

By  thy  redeeming  grace  alone, 
And  not  for  merits  of  my  own, 
O,  pardon  me  !  " 

As  thus  the  dying  warrior  prayed, 
Without  one  gathering  mist  or  shade 
Upon  his  mind  ; 
Encircled  by  his  family, 
Watched  by  affection's  gentle  eye 
So  soft  and  kind  ; 


COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.  99 

His  soul  to  Him,  who  gave  it,  rose ; 

God  lead  it  to  its  long  repose, 

Its  glorious  rest  ! 

And,  though  the  warrior's  sun  has  set, 

Its  light  shall  linger  round  us  yet, 

Bright,  radiant,  blest.* 


*  This  poem  of  Manrique  is  a  great  favorite  in  Spain. 
No  less  than  four  poetic  Glosses,  or  running  commen 
taries,  upon  it  have  been  published,  no  one  of  which, 
however,  possesses  great  poetic  merit.  That  of  the  Car 
thusian  monk,  Rodrigo  de  Valdepenas,  is  the  best.  It 
is  known  as  the  Glosa  del  Cartujo.  There  is  also  a  prose 
Commentary  by  Luis  de  Aranda. 

The  following  stanzas  of  the  poem  were  found  in  the 
author's  pocket,  after  his  death  on  the  field  of  battle  ; 

"  O  World  !  so  few  the  years  we  live, 
Would  that  the  life  which  thou  dost  give 
Were  life  indeed  ! 
Alas  !  thy  sorrows  fall  so  fast, 
Our  happiest  hour  is  whe"\  at  last 
The  soul  is  freed. 


loo  TRANSLATIONS. 

>f  Our  days  are  covered  o'er  with  grief, 
And  sorrows  neither  few  nor  brief 
Veil  all  in  gloom  ; 
Left  desolate  of  real  good, 
Within  this  cheerless  solitude 
No  pleasures  bloom. 

"  Thy  pilgrimage  begins  in  tears 
And  ends  in  bitter  doubts  and  fears, 
Or  dark  despair ; 
Midway  so  many  toils  appear, 
That  he  who  lingers  longest  here 
Knows  most  of  care. 

"  Thy  goods  are  bought  with  many  a  groan,. 
By  the  hot  sweat  of  toil  alone, 
And  weary  hearts ; 
Fleet-footed  is  the  approach-of  woe, 
But  with  a  lingering  step  and  slow 
Its  form  departs." 


THE   GOOD  SHEPHERD. 


FROM   THE   SPANISH   OF  LOPE  DE   VEGA. 


SHEPHERD  !  that  with   thine   amorous,  sylvan 

song 
Hast  broken  the  slumber  which  encompassed 

me, — 

That  mad'st  thy  crook  from  the  accursed  tree, 
On  which  thy  powerful  arms  were  stretched  so 

long ! 

Lead  me  to  mercy's  ever-flowing  fountains  ; 
For  thou  my  shepherd,  guard,  and  guide  shalt 

be; 

I  will  obey  thy  voice,  and  wait  to  see 
Thy  feet  all  beautiful  upon  the  mountains. 


162  TRANSLATIONS 

Hear,  Shepherd  ! — them  who  for  thy  flock  art 

dying, 

O,  wash  away  these  scarlet  sins,  for  thou 
Rejoicest  at  the  contrite  sinner's  vow. 
O,  wait ! — to  thee  my  weary  soul  is  crying, — 
Wait  for  me  ! — Yet  why  ask  it,  when  I  see, 
With  feet  nailed  to  the  cross,  thou  'rt  waiting 

still  for  me ! 


TO-MORROW. 


FROM  THE  SPANISH  OF  LOPE  DB  VEOA. 


LORD,  what  am  I,  that,  with  unceasing  care, 
Thou  didst  seek  after  me, — that  thou  didst  wait, 
Wet  with  unhealthy  dews,  before  my  gate, 
And  pass  the  gloomy  nights  of  winter  there  ? 
O  strange  delusion  ! — that  I  did  not  greet 
Thy  blest  approach,  and  O,  to  Heaven  how  lost, 
If  my  ingratitude's  unkindly  frost 
Has  chilled  the  bleeding  wounds  upon  chy  feet. 
How  oft  my  guardian  angel  gently  cried, 
"  Soul,  from  thy  casement  look,  and  thou  shalt 
see 


104  TRANSLATIONS. 

How  he  persists  to  knock  and  wait  for  thee  ! " 
And,  O  !  how  often  to  that  voice  of  sorrow, 
"  To-morrow  we  will  open,"  I  replied, 
And  when  the  morrow  came  I  answered  still, 
*'  To-morrow." 


THE  IMAGE  OF  GOD. 


FROM   THE   SPANISH   OF   FRANCISCO  DE  ALDANA. 


O  LORD  !  that  seest,  from  yon  starry  height, 
Centred  in  one  the  future  and  the  past, 
Fashioned  in  thine  own  image,  see  how  fast 
The  world  obscures  in  me  what  once  was  bright ! 
Eternal    Sun  !    the   warmth   which   thou    hast 

given, 

To  cheer  life's  flowery  April,  fast  decays ; 
Yet,  in  the  hoary  winter  of  my  days, 
For  ever  green  shall  be  my  trust  in  Heaven. 
Celestial  King  !  O  let  thy  presence  pass 


;o6  TRANSLATIONS. 

The  exiled  spirit  weeps  and  sighs  for  thee  ! 
Heavenward  the  bright  perfections  I  adore 
Direct,  and  the  sure  promise  cheers  the  way, 
That,   whither    love    aspires,   there  shall    my 
dwelling  be. 


THE  NATIVE  LAND. 


FROM  THE  SPANISH  OF  FRANCISCO  DE  ALDANA. 


CLEAR  fount  of  light !  my  native  land  on  high, 
Bright  with  a  glory  that  shall  never  fade  ! 
Mansion  of  truth  !  without  a  veil  or  shade, 
Thy  holy  quiet  meets  the  spirit's  eye. 
There  dwells  the  soul  in  its  ethereal  essence, 
Gasping  no  longer  for  life's  feeble  breath  ; 
But,  sentineled  in  heaven,  its  glorious  presence 
With  pitying  eye  beholds,  yet  fears  not,  death. 
Beloved  country  !  banished  from  thy  shore, 
A  stranger  in  this  prison-house  of  clay, 


io8  TRANSLATIONS. 

Before  my  spirit,  and  an  image  fair 

Shall  meet  that  look  of  mercy  from  on  high, 

As  the  reflected  image  in  a  glass 

Doth  meet  the  look  of  him  who  seeks  it  there. 

And  owes  its*  being  to  the  gazer's  eye. 


FROM  THE  SPANISH. 


LAUGH  of  the   mountain  ! — lyre   of  bird   and 

tree  ! 

Pomp  of  the  meadow  !  mirror  of  the  morn  ! 
The  soul  of  April,  unto  whom  are  born 
The  rose  and  jessamine,  leaps  wild  in  thee  ! 
Although,  where'er  thy  devious  current  strays, 
The  lap  of  earth  with  gold  and  silver  teems, 
To  me  thy  clear  proceeding  brighter  seems 
Than  golden  sands,  that  charm  each  shepherd's 

gaze. 

How  without  guile  thy  bosom,  all  transparent 
As  the  pure  crystal,  lets  the  curious  eye 


i  io  TRANSLATIONS. 

Thy  secrets  scan,  thy  smooth,  round  pebbles 

count  ! 
How,  without   malice   murmuring,   glides   thy 

current  ! 

O  sweet  simplicity  of  days  gone  by ! 
Thou  shun'st  the  haunts  01  man,  to  dwell  in 

limpid  fount ! 


THE  CELESTIAL  PILOT. 


FROM   DANTE.      PURGATORIO,    II. 


AND  now,  behold  !  as  at  the  approach  of  morn 
ing, 

Through  the  gross  vapors,  Mars  grows  fiery  red 
Down  in  the  west  upon  the  ocean  floor, 

Appeared  to  me, — would  I  again  could  see  it  !— 
A  light  along  the  sea,  so  swiftly  coming, 
Its  motion  by  no  flight  of  wing  is  equalled. 

And  when  therefrom  I  had  withdrawn  a  little 
Mine    eyes,    that    I    might   question    my   con 
ductor, 
Again  I  saw  it  brighter  grown  and  larger. 


1 1 2  TRANSLA  TIONS. 

Thereafter,  on  all  sides  of  it,  appeared 

I  knew  not  what  of  white,  and  underneath, 

Little  by  little,  there  came  forth  another. 

My  master  yet  had  uttered  not  a  word. 
While  the  first  brightness  into  wings  unfolded; 
But,  when  he  clearly  recognised  the  pilot, 

He  cried  aloud  ;  "  Quick,  quick,  and  bow  the 

knee  ! 

Behold  the  Angel  of  God  !  fold  up  thy  hands  ! 
Henceforward  shalt  thou  see  such  officers  ! 

"  See,  how  he  scorns  all  human  arguments, 

So  that  no  oar  he  wants,  nor  other  sail 

Than  his  own  wings,  between  so  distant  shores  ! 

"  See,  how  he  holds  them,  pointed  straight  to 

heaven, 

Fanning  the  air  with  the  eternal  pinions, 
That  do  not  moult  themselves  like  mortal  hair  ! ' 


THE  CELESTIAL  PILOT.  113 

And  then,  as  nearer  and  more  near  us  came 
The   Bird   of  Heaven,  more   glorious  he   ap 
peared, 
So  that  the  eye  could  not  sustain  his  presence, 

Rut  down  I  cast  it ;  and  he  came  to  shore 
With  a  small  vessel,  gliding  swift  and  light, 
So  that  the  water  swallowed  nought  thereof. 

Upon  the  stern  stood  the  Celestial  Pilot ! 

Beatitude  seemed  written  in  his  face  ! 

And  more  than  a  hundred  spirits  sat  within. 

"  In  exitu  Israel  out  of  Egypt  !  " 

Thus  sang  they  all  together  in  one  voice, 

With  whatso  in  that  Psalm  is  after  written. 

Then  made  he  sign  of  holy  rood  upon  them, 
Whereat  all  cast  themselves  upon  the  shore, 

And  he  departed  swiftly  as  he  came. 
8 


THE  TERRESTRIAL  PARADISE. 

FROM  DANTE.      PURGATORIO,    XXVIIL 

LONGING  already  to  search  in  and  round 
The  heavenly  forest,  dense  and  living-green, 
Which  to  the  eyes  tempered  the  new-born  day 

Withouten  more  delay  I  left  the  bank, 
Crossing  the  level  country  slowly,  slowly, 
Over  the  soil,  that  everywhere  breathed  fr* 
grance. 

A  gently-breathing  air,  that  no  mutation 
Had  in  itself,  smote  me  upon  the  forehead, 
No  heavier  blow,  than  of  a  pleasant  breeze^ 


THE   TERRESTRIAL  PARADISE.        115 

Whereat  the  tremulous  branches  readily 
Did  all  of  them  bow  downward  towards  that  side 
Where  its  first  shadow  casts  the  Holy  Moun 
tain  ; 

Vet  not  from  their  upright  direction  bent 
So  that  the  little  birds  upon  their  tops 
Should  cease  the  practice  of  their  tuneful  art  ; 

But,  with  full-throated  joy,  the  hours  of  prime 
Singing  received  they  in  the  midst  of  foliage 
That  made  monotonous  burden  to  their  rhymes, 

Even   as   from   branch  to  branch  it  gathering 

swells, 

Through  the  pine  forests  on  the  shore  of  Chiassi, 
When  ^Eolus  unlooses  the  Sirocco. 

Already  my  slow  steps  had  led  me  on 
Into  the  ancient  wood  so  far,  that  I 
Could  see   no  more  the  place  where  I  had  en 
tered. 


1 16  TRANSLA  TIONS. 

And  lo  !  my  farther  course  cut  off  a  river, 
Which,  towards    the  left  hand,   with    its   little 

waves, 
Bent  down  the  grass,  that  on  its  margin  sprang. 

All  waters  that  on  earth  most  limpid  are, 
Would  seem  to  have  within   themselves  some 

mixture, 

Compared  with  that,  which  nothing  doth  con 
ceal, 

Although  it  moves  on  with  a  brown,   brown 

current, 

Under  the  shade  perpetual,  that  never 
Ray  of  the  sun  lets  in,  nor  of  the  moon. 


BEATRICE. 


FROM  0ANTE.   PURGATORIO,  XXX.,  XXXI. 


EVEN  as  the  Blessed,  in  the  new  covenant, 
Shall   rise    up    quickened,    each   one  from   his 

grave, 
Wearing  again  the  garments  of  the  flesh, 

So,  upon  that  celestial  chariot, 

A  hundred  rose  ad  vocem  tanti  senis, 

Ministers  and  messengers  of  life  eternal. 

They  all  were  saying  ;  "  Benedictus  qui  vcnis,'' 
And  scattering  flowers  above  and  round  about 
"  Manibus  o  date  lilia  plenis" 


1  1  8  TRANSLA  TIONS. 

I  once  beheld,  at  the  approach  of  day, 

The  orient  sky  all  stained  with  roseate  hues, 

And  the  other  heaven  with  light  serene  adorned 

And  the  sun's  face  uprising,  overshadowed, 
So  that,  by  temperate  influence  of  vapors, 
The  eye  sustained  his  aspect  for  long  while  ; 

Thus  in  the  bosom  of  a  cloud  of  flowers, 
Which  from  tho^e  hands  angelic  were  thrown 

up, 
down  descended  inside  and  without, 


With  crown  of  olive  o'er  a  snow-white  veil, 
Appeared  a  lady,  under  a  green  mantle, 
Vested  in  colors  of  the  living  flame. 


Even  as  the  snow,  among  the  living  rafters 

Upon  the  back  of  Italy,  congeals, 

Blown  on  and  beaten  by  Sclavonian  winds, 


BEATRICE.  119 

And  then,  dissolving,  filters  through  itself, 
Whene'er  the  land,  that  loses  shadow,  breathes, 
Like  as  a  taper  melts  before  a  fire, 

Even  such  I  was,  without  a  sigh  or  tear, 
Before  the  song  of  those  who  chime  for  ever 
After  the  chiming  of  the  eternal  spheres  ; 

But,  when  I  heard  in  those  sweet  melodies 
Compassion  for  me,  more  than  had  they  said, 
"  O  wherefore,  lady,  dost  thou  thus  consume 
him  ?  " 

The  ice,  that  was  about  my  heart  congealed, 
To  air  and  water  changed,  and,  in  my  anguish, 
Through  lips  and  eyes  came  gushing  from  my 
breast. 


Confusion  and  dismay,  together  mingled, 
Forced  such  a  feeble  "Yes  !  "  out  of  my  mouth, 
To  understand  it  one  had  need  of  sight. 


120    '  TRANSLATIONS. 

Even  as  a  cross-bow  breaks,  when  't  is  dis 

charged, 

Too  tensely  drawn  the  bow-string  and  the  bow, 
And  with  less  force  the  arrow  hits  the  mark  ; 

So  I  gave  way  under  this  heavy  burden, 
Gushing  forth  into  bitter  tears  and  sighs, 
And  the  voice,  fainting,  flagged  upon  its  pas 
sage. 


SPRING. 


PROM   THK   FRENCH   OF   CHARLES   D'ORLEANS. 
XV.  CENTURY. 


GENTLE  Spring  ! — in  sunshine  clad, 
Well  dost  thou  thy  power  display  ! 

For  Winter  maketh  the  light  heart  sad, 

And  thou, — thou  makest  the  sad  hea^t  gay. 

He  sees  thee,  and  calls  to  his  gloomy  train, 

The  sleet,  and  the  snow,  and  the  wind,  and  th? 
rain  ; 

And  they  shrink  away,  and  they  flee  in  fear, 
When  thy  merry  step  draws  near. 


123  TRANSLATIONS. 

Winter  giveth  the  fields  and  the  trees,  so  old. 
Their  beards  of  icicles  and  snow  ; 

And  the  rain,  it  raineth  so  fast  and  cold, 
We  must  cower  over  the  embers  low ; 

And,  snugly  housed  from  the  wind  and  weather 

Mope  like  birds  that  are  changing  feather. 

But  the  storm  retires,  and  the  sky  grows  clear, 
When  thy  merry  step  draws  near. 

Winter  maketh  the  sun  in  the  gloomy  sky 

Wrap  him  round  with  a  mantle  of  cloud , 
But,  Heaven  be  praised,  thy  step  is  nigh ; 
Thou  tearest  away  the  mournful  shroud, 
And  the  earth  looks  bright,  and  Winter  surly, 
Who  has  toiled  for  nought  both  late  and  early. 
Is  banished  afar  by  the  new-born  year, 
When  thy  merry  step  draws  near. 


THE  CHILD  ASLEEP. 


FROM  -THE    FRENCH. 


SWEET  babe !  true  portrait  of  thy  father's  face, 
Sleep    on    the    bosom,   that    thy   lips   have 
pressed  ! 

Sleep,  little  one  ;  and  closely,  gently  place 
Thy  drowsy  eyelid  on  thy  mother's  breast. 

Upon  that  tender  eye,  my  little  friend, 
Soft  sleep  shall  come,  that  cometh  not  to  me ! 

I  watch  to  see  thee,  nourish  thee,  defend ; — 
'T  is  sweet  to  watch  for  thee, — alone  for  thee  I 


1 24  TRANSLA  TIONS. 

His  arms  fall  down  ;  sleep  sits  upon  his  brow ; 
His  eye  is  closed ;  he  sleeps,  nor  dreams  ol 

harm. 

vVore  not  his  cheek  the  apple's  ruddy  glow, 
Would  you  not  say  he  slept  on  Death's  cold 
arm  ? 

Awake,  my  boy  ! — I  tremble  with  affright ! 

Awake,  and  chase  this  fatal  thought ! — Un 
close 
Thine  eye  but  for  one  moment  on  the  light ! 

Even  at  the  price  of  thine,  give  me  repose ! 

Sweet  error  ! — he  but  slept, — I  breathe  again  ; — 
Come,  gentle  dreams,  the  hour  of  sleep -be 
guile  ! 

O  !  when  shall  he,  for  whom  I  sign  in  vain, 
Beside  me  watch  to  see  thy  waking  smile  ? 


THE  GRAVE. 


FROM    THE  ANGLO-SAXON. 

FOR  thee  was  a  house  built 
Ere  thou  wert  born, 
For  thee  was  a  mould  meant 
Ere  thou  of  mother  earnest. 
But  it  is  not  made  ready, 
Nor  its  depth  measured, 
Nor  is  it  seen 
How  long  it  shall  be. 
Now  I  bring  thee 
Where  thou  shalt  be  ; 
Now  I  shall  measure  thee, 
And  the  mould  afterwards. 


1 26  -TRANSLA  TIONS. 

Thy  house  is  not 
Highly  timbered, 
It  is  unhigh  and  low  ; 
When  thou  art  therein, 
The  heel-ways  are  low 
The  side-ways  unhigh. 
The  roof  is  built 
Thy  breast  full  nigh, 
So  thou  shalt  in  mould 
Dwell  full  cold, 
Dimly  and  dark. 


Doorless  is  that  house^ 
And  dark  it  is  within ; 
There  thou  art  fast  detained 
And  Death  hath  the  key. 
Loathsome  is  that  earth-house, 
And  grim  within  to  dwell. 
There  thou  shalt  dwell, 
And  worms  shall  divide  thee. 


THE  GRAVE.  127 

Thus  thou  art  laid, 
And  leavest  thy  friends  ; 
Thou  hast  no  friend, 
Who  will  come  to  thee, 
Who  will  ever  see 
How  that  house  pleaseth  thee ; 
Who  will  ever  open 
The  door  for  thee 
And  descend  after  thee, 
For  soon  thou  art  loathsome 
And  hateful  to  ^ee. 


KING  CHRISTIAN. 

A  NATIONAL   SONG  OF   DENMARK. 


FROM   THE  DANISH   OF  JOHANNES    EVALD. 

KING  CHRISTIAN  stood  by  the  lofty  mast 

In  mist  and  smoke  ; 
His  sword  was  hammering  so  fast, 
Through  Gothic  helm  and  brain  it  passed ; 
Then  sank  each  hostile  hulk  and  mast, 

In  mist  and  smoke. 

"  Fly  !  "  shouted  they,  "  fly,  he  who  can  ! 
Who  braves  of  Denmark's  Christian 

The  stroke  ?  " 


KIAG   CHRISTIAN.  129 

Nils  Juel  gave  heed  to  the  tempest's  roar, 

Now  is  the  hour  ! 

He  hoisted  his  blood-red  flag  once  more, 
And  smote  upon  the  foe  full  sore, 
And  shouted  loud,  through  the  tempest's  roar, 

"  Now  is  the  hour  !  " 
44  Fly  !  "  shouted  they,  "  for  shelter  fly! 
Of  Denmark's  Juel  who  can  defy 

The  power?" 

North  Sea  !  a  glimpse  of  Wessel  rent 

Thy  murky  sky  ! 

Then  champions  to  thine  arms  were  sent ; 
Terror  and  Death  glared  where  he  went ; 
From  the  waves  was  heard  a  wail,  that  rent 

Thy  murky  sky  ! 

From  Denmark,  thunders  Tordenskiol', 
Let  each  to  Heaven  commend  his  soul, 

And  fly  ! 

Path  of  the  Dane  to  fame  and  might ! 
Dark-rolling  wave  ! 


130  TRANSLATIONS. 

Receive  thy  friend,  who,  scorning  flight, 
Goes  to  meet  danger  with  despite, 
Proudly  as  thou  the  tempest's  might, 

Dark-rolling  wave ! 
And  amid  pleasures  and  alarms, 
And  war  and  victory,  be  thine  arms 

My  grave  !  * 


*  Nils  Juei  was  a  celebrated  Danish  Admiral,  and 
Peder  Wessel,  a  Vice-Admiral,  who  for  his  great  prow 
ess  received  the  popular  title  of  Tordenskiold,  or  Thun 
der-shield.  In  childhood  he  was  a  tailor's  apprentice, 
and  rose  to  his  high  rank  before  the  age  of  twenty-eight, 
when  he  was  killed  in  a  duel. 


THE   HAPPIEST   LAND. 


FRAGMENT   OF  A   MODERN   BALLAD. 


THE   GERMAN. 


THERE  sat  one  day  in  quiet, 
By  an  alehouse  on  the  Rhine, 

Four  hale  and  hearty  fellows, 
And  drank  the  precious  wine. 

The  landlord's  daughter  filled  their  cups, 

Around  the  rustic  board  ; 
Then  sat  they  all  so  calm  and  still, 

And  spake  not  one  rude  word. 


132  TRANSLATIONS. 

But,  when  the  maid  departed, 

A  Swabian  raised  his  hand, 
And  cried,  all  hot  and  flushed  with  wine. 

"  Long  live  the  Swabian  land  ! 


*'  The  greatest  kingdom  upon  earth 
Cannot  with  that  compare  ; 

With  all  the  stout  and  hardy  men 
And  the  nut-brown  maidens  there." 


"  Ha!"  cried  a  Saxon,  laughing, — 
And  dashed  his  beard  with  wine  ; 

"  I  had  rather  live  in  Lapland, 
Than  that  Swabian  land  of  thine  ! 


"  The  goodliest  land  on  all  this  earth, 

It  is  the  Saxon  land  ! 
There  have  I  as  many  maidens 

As  fingers  on  this  hand  !  " 


THE  HAPPIEST  LAND.  133 

"  Hold   your   tongues  !    both   Swabian    and 
Saxon  ! " 

A  bold  Bohemian  cries  ; 
"  If  there  's  a  heaven  upon  this  earth, 

In  Bohemia  it  lies. 

"  There  the  tailor  blows  the  flute, 

And  the  cobler  blows  the  horn. 
And  the  miner  blows  the  bugle, 

Over  mountain  gorge  and  bourn." 


And  then  the  landlord's  daughter 
Up  to  heaven  raised  her  hand, 

And  said,  "  Ye  may  no  more  contend. 
There  lies  the  happiest  land  !  " 


THE  WAVE. 


FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF  TIEDGK. 


"  WHITHER,  thou  turbid  wave  ? 
Whither,  with  so  much  haste, 
As  if  a  thief  wert  thou  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  Wave  of  Life, 
Stained  with  my  margin's  dust ; 
From  the  struggle  and  the  strife 
Of  the  narrow  stream  I  fly 
To  the  Sea's  immensity, 
To  wash  from  me  the  slime 
Of  the  muddy  banks  of  Time." 


THE  DEAD. 


FROM   THE  GERMAN   OF   KLOPSTOCK. 


How  they  so  softly  rest, 
All,  all  the  holy  dead, 
Unto  whose  dwelling-place 
Now  doth  my  soul  draw  near ! 
How  they  so  softly  rest, 
All  in  their  silent  graves, 
Deep  to  corruption 
Slowly  down-sinking  1 

And  they  no  longer  weep, 
Here,  where  complaint  is  still ! 
And  they  no  longer  feel, 


136  TRANSLATIONS. 

Here,  where  all  gladness  flies ! 

And,  by  the  cypresses 

Softly  o'ershadowed, 

Until  the  Angel 

Calls  them,  they  slumber  ! 


THE   BIRD   AND   THE   SHIP. 


FROM    THE   GERMAN    OF   MULLER. 


"THE  rivers  rush  into  the  sea, 

By  castle  and  town  they  go ; 
The  winds  behind  them  merrily 
Their  noisy  trumpets  blow. 


The  clouds  are  passing  far  and  high, 
We  little  birds  in  them  play ; 

And  every  thing,  that  can  sing  and  fly, 
Goes  with  us,  and  far  away. 


138  TRANSLA  TIONS. 

"  I  greet  thee,  bonny  boat !  Whither,  or  whence, 
With  thy  fluttering  golden  band  ?  " — 

'*  I  greet  thee,  little  bird !     To  the  wide  sea 
I  haste  from  the  narrow  land. 


"  Full  and  swollen  is  every  sail ; 

I  see  no  longer  a  hill, 
I  have  trusted  all  to  the  sounding  gale, 
And  it  will  not  let  me  stand  still. 


And  wilt  thou,  little  bird,  go  with  us  ? 

Thou  mayest  stand  on  the  mainmast  tall, 
For  full  to  sinking  is  my  house 

With  merry  companions  all." — 

I  need  not  and  seek  not  company, 
Bonny  boat,  I  can  sing  all  alone ; 

For  the  mainmast  tall  too  heavy  am  I, 
Bonny  boat,  I  have  wings  of  my  own. 


THE.  BIRD  AND    THE  SHIP.  139 

"  High  over  the  sails,  high  over  the  mast, 

Who  shall  gainsay  these  joys  ? 
When  thy  merry  companions  are  still,  at  last, 
Thou  shalt  hear  the  sound  of  my  voice. 

"  Who  neither  may  rest,  nor  listen  may, 

God  bless  them  every  one  ! 
I  dart  away,  in  the  bright  blue  day, 
And  the  golden  fields  of  the  sun. 

"  Thus  do  I  sing  my  weary  song, 

Wherever  the  four  winds  blow  ; 
And  this  same  song,  my  whole  life  long, 
Neither  Poet  nor  Printer  may  know." 


WHITHER? 


FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF    MULLER. 


I  HEARD  a  brooklet  gushing 
From  its  rocky  fountain  near, 

Down  into  the  valley  rushing, 
So  fresh  and  wondrous  clear. 


I  know  not  what  came  o'er  me, 
Nor  who  the  counsel  gave  ; 

But  I  must  hasten  downward, 
All  with  my  pilgrim-stave  ; 


WHITHER f  141 

Downward,  and  ever  farther, 

And  ever  the  brook  beside ; 
And  ever  fresher  murmured, 

And  ever  clearer,  the  tide. 

Is  this  the  way  I  was  going  ? 

Whither,  O  brooklet,  say  ! 
Thou  hast,  with  thy  soft  murmur, 

Murmured  my  senses  away. 

What  do  I  say  of  a  murmur  ? 

That  can  no  murmur  be  ; 
'T  is  the  water-nymphs,  that  are  singing 

Their  roundelays  under  me. 

Let  them  sing,  my  friend,  let  them  murmur, 

And  wander  merrily  near  ; 
The  wheels  of  a  mill  are  going 

In  every  brooklet  clear. 


.  BEWARE  ! 


FROM   THE   GERMAN. 


I  KNOW  a  maiden  fair  to  see, 

Take  care ! 
She  can  both  false  and  friendly  be. 

Beware  !  Beware ! 

Trust  her  not, 
She  is  fooling  thee ! 

She  has  two  eyes,  so  soft  and  brown, 

Take  care  ! 
She  gives  a  side-glance  and  looks  down, 

Beware  !  Beware  ! 

Trust  her  not, 
She  is  fooling  thee ! 


BEWARE/  143 

And  she  has  hair  of  a  golden  hue, 

Take  care  ! 
And  what  she  says,  it  is  not  true, 

Beware !  Beware ! 

Trust  her  not, 
She  is  fooling  thee  ! 

She  has  a  bosom  as  white  as  snow, 

Take  care  ! 
She  knows  how  much  it  is  best  to  show, 

Beware  !  Beware  ! 

Trust  her  not, 
She  is  fooling  thee  ! 

She  gives  thee  a  garland  woven  fair, 

Take  care  ! 
It  is  a  fool's-cap  for  thee  to  wear, 

Beware  !  Beware  ! 

Trust  her  not, 
She  is  fooling  thee  ! 


SONG    OF   THE   BELL. 


FROM  THE   GERMAN. 


BELL  !  them  soundest  merrily, 
When  the  bridal  party 

To  the  church  doth  hie  ! 
Bell  !  thou  soundest  solemnly, 
When,  on  Sabbath  morning, 

Fields  deserted  lie  ! 

Bell !  thou  soundest  merrily  ; 
Tellest  thou  at  evening, 

Bed-time  draweth  nigh  ! 
Bell  !  thou  soundest  mournfully  ; 
Tellest  thou  the  bitter 

Parting  hath  gone  by  1 


SONG   OF   THE    BELL.  145 

Say  !  how  canst  them  mourn  ? 

How  canst  thou  rejoice? 

i 

Thou  art  but  metal  dull ! 
And  yet  all  our  sorrowings, 
And  all  our  rejoicings, 

Thou  dost  feel  them  all ! 

God  hath  wonders  many, 
Which  we  cannot  fathom, 

Placed  within  thy  form  ! 
When  the  heart  is  sinking, 
Thou  alone  canst  raise  it, 

Trembling  in  the  storm  ' 
10 


THE    CASTLE    BY   THE    SEA. 


FROM   THE  GERMAN  OF  UHLAND. 

"  HAST  thou  seen  that  lordly  castle, 

That  Castle  by  the  Sea  ? 
Golden  and  red  above  it 

The  clouds  float  gorgeously. 


"  And  fain  it  would  stoop  downward 
To  the  mirrored  wave  below  ; 

And  fain  it  would  soar  upward 
In  the  evening's  crimson  glow." 


THE   CASTLE  BY  THE  SEA.  147 

"  Well  have  I  seen  that  castle, 

That  Castle  by  the  Sea, 
And  the  moon  above  it  standing, 

And  the  mist  rise  solemnly." 


"  The  winds  and  the  waves  of  ocean. 

Had  they  a  merry  chime  ? 
Didst  thou  hear,  from  those  lofty  chambers, 

The  harp  and  the  minstrel's  rhyme  ?  " 


"  The  winds  and  the  waves  of  ocean, 

They  rested  quietly, 
But  I  heard  on  the  gale  a  sound  of  wail, 

And  tears  came  to  mine  eye." 

"  And  sawest  thou  on  the  turrets 
The  King  and  his  royal  bride  ? 

And  the  wave  of  their  crimson  mantles  ? 
And  the  golden  crown  of  pride  ? 


U8  TRANSLATIONS. 

"  Led  they  not  forth,  in  rapture, 

A  beauteous  maiden  there  ? 
Resplendent  as  the  morning  sun, 

Beaming  with  golden  hair?  " 

"  Well  saw  I  the  ancient  parents, 

Without  the  crown  of  pride  ; 
They  were  moving  slow,  in  weeds  of  woet 

No  maiden  was  by  their  siHe  I  " 


THE  BLACK  KNIGHT. 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  UHLAND. 


T  WAS  Pentecost,  the  Feast  of  Gladness, 
When  woods  and  fields  put  off  all  sadness 

Thus  began  the  King  and  spake  ; 
"  So  from  the  halls 
Of  ancient  Hof  burg's  walls, 

A  luxuriant  Spring  shall  break." 

Drums  and  trumpets  echo  loudly, 
Wave  the  crimson  banners  proudly. 

From  balcony  the  King  looked  on  ; 
In  the  play  of  spears, 
Fell  all  the  cavaliers, 

Before  the  monarch's  stalwart  son. 


1 5o  TRANSLATIONS. 

To  the  barrier  of  the  fight 
Rode  at  last  a  sable  Knight. 

"  Sir  Knight !  your  name  and  scutcheon,  say  !* 
"  Should  I  speak  it  here, 
Ye  would  stand  aghas..  with  fear ; 

I  'm  a  Prince  of  mighty  sway  !  " 

When  he  rode  into  the  lists, 

The  arch  of  heaven  grew  black  with  mists; 

And  the  castle  'gan  to  rock. 
At  the  first  blow. 
Fell  the  youth  from  saddle-bow, 

Hardly  rises  from  the  shock. 

Pipe  and  viol  call  the  dances, 
Torch-light  through  the  high  halls  glance* 

Waves  a  mighty  shadow  in  ; 
With  manner  bland 
Doth  ask  the  maiden's  hand, 

Doth  with  her  the  dance  begin  ; 


THE  BLACK  KNIGHT.  i 

Danced  in  sable  iron  sark, 
Danced  a  measure  wei  d  and  dark, 

Coldly  clasped  her  limbs  around. 
From  breast  and  hair 
Down  fall  from  her  the  fair 

Flowerets,  faded,  to  the  ground. 

To  the  sumptuous  banquet  came 
Every  Knight  and  every  Dame. 

'Twixt  son  and  daughter  all  distraught, 
With  mournful  mind 
The  ancient  King  reclined, 

Gazed  at  them  in  silent  thought. 

Pale  the  children  both  did  look, 
But  the  guest  a  beaker  took  ; 

"  Golden  wine  will  make  you  whole ! " 
The  children  drank, 
Gave  many  a  courteous  thank  ; 

"  O  that  draught  was  very  cool ! " 


1 52  TRANSLA  TIONS. 

Each  the  father's  breast  embraces, 
Son  and  daughter  ;  and  their  faces 

Colorless  grow  utterly. 
Whichever  way 
Looks  the  fear-struck  father  gray, 

He  beholds  his  children  die. 


"  Woe  !  the  blessed  children  both 
Takest  thou  in  the  joy  of  youth  ; 

Take  me,  too,  the  joyless  father  ! ' 
Spake  the  grim  Guest, 
From  his  hollow,  cavernous  breast ; 

"  Roses  in  the  spring  I  gather  !  " 


SONG   OF  THE   SILENT  LAND. 


FROM   THE   GERMAN    OF  SALIS. 


INTO  the  Silent  Land  ! 

Ah  !  who  shall  lead  us  thither  ? 

Clouds  in  the  evening  sky  more  darkly  gather, 

And  shattered  wrecks  lie  thicker  on  the  strand 

Who  leads  us  with  a  gentle  hand 

Thither,  O  thither, 

Into  the  Silent  Land  ? 


Into  the  Silent  Land  ! 
To  you,  ye  boundless  regions 
Of  all  perfection  !     Tender  morning-visions 
Of  beauteous  souls  !     The  Future's  pledge 
band  ! 


,-54  TRANSLATIONS. 

Who  in  Life's  battle  firm  doth  stand, 
Shall  bear  Hope's  tender  blossoms 
Into  the  Silent  Land  ! 

O  Land  !     O  Land  ! 

For  all  the  broken-hearted 

The  mildest  herald  by  our  fate  allotted, 

Beckons,  and  with  inverted  torch  doth  stand 

To  lead  us  with  a  gentle  hand 

Into  the  land  of  the  great  Departed, 

Into  the  Silent  Land  ! 


L'ENVOI. 


YE  voices,  that  arose 

After  the  Evening's  close, 

And  whispered  to  my  restless  heart  repose  > 

Go,  breathe  it  in  the  ear 

Of  all  who  doubt  and  fear, 

And  say  to  them,  "  Be  of  good  cheer!  " 


Ye  sounds,  so  low  and  calm, 

That  in  the  groves  of  balm 

Seemed  to  me  like  an  angel's  psalm  ! 


1 56  TRA  NSLA  TIONS. 

Go,  mingle  yet  once  more 

With  the.  perpetual  roar 

Of  the  pine  forest,  dark  and  hoar  ! 


Tongues  of  the  dead,  not  lost, 
But  speaking  from  death's  frost, 
Like  fiery  tongues  at  Pentecost .' 

Glimmer,  as  funeral  lamps, 
Amid  the  chills  and  damps 
Of  the  vast  plain  where  Death  encamps  ! 


BALLADS 


OTHER    POEMS, 


PREFACE. 


THERE  is  one  poem  in  this  volume,  in  refer 
ence  to  which  a  few  introductory  remarks  may 
be  useful.  It  is  The  Children  of  the  Lord's  Sup 
per,  from  the  Swedish  of  Bishop  Tegner ;  a 
poem  which  enjoys  no  inconsiderable  reputa 
tion  in  the  North  of  Europe,  and  for  its  beauty 
and  simplicity  merits  the  attention  of  English 
readers.  It  is  an  Idyl,  descriptive  of  scenes  in 
a  Swedish  village  ;  and  belongs  to  the  same 
class  of  poems,  as  the  Lnise  of  Voss  and  the 
Hermann  und  Dorothea  of  Gothe.  But  the 
Swedish  Poet  has  been  guided  by  a  surer  taste, 
than  his  German  predecessors.  His  tone  is 


160        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

pure  and  elevated  ;  and  he  rarely,  if  ever,  mis* 
takes  what  is  trivial  for  what  is  simple. 

There  is  something  patriarchal  still  lingering 
about  rural  life  in  Sweden,  which  renders  it  a 
fit  theme  for  song.  Almost  primeval  simplicity 
reigns  over  that  Northern  land, — almost  primeval 
solitude  and  stillness.  You  pass  out  from  the 
gate  of  the  city,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  the  scene 
changes  to  a  wild,  woodland  landscape.  Around 
you  are  forests  of  fir.  Overhead  hang  the  long, 
fan-like  branches,  trailing  with  moss,  and  heavy 
with  red  and  blue  cones.  Under  foot  is  a  car 
pet  of  yellow  leaves  ;  and  the  air  is  warm  and 
balmy.  On  a  wooden  bridge  you  cross  a  little 
silver  stream  ;  and  anon  come  forth  into  a 
pleasant  and  sunny  land  of  farms.  Wooden 
fences  divide  the  adjoining  fields.  Across  the 
road  are  gates,  which  are  opened  by  troops  of 
children.  The  peasants  take  off  their  hats  as 
you  pass  ;  you  sneeze,  and  they  cry,  "  God 
bless  you."  The  houses  in  the  villages  and 


PREFACE.  161 

smaller  towns  are  all  built  of  hewn  timber,  and 
for  the  most  part  painted  red.  The  floors  of 
the  taverns  are  strewn  with  the  fragrant  tips  of 
fir  boughs.  In  many  villages  there  are  no  tav 
erns,  and  the  peasants  take  turns  in  receiving 
travellers.  The  thrifty  housewife  shows  you 
into  the  best  chamber,  the  /vails  of  which  are 
hung  round  with  rude  pictures  from  the  Bible  ; 
and  brings  you  her  heavy  silver  spoons, — an 
heirloom, — to  dip  the  curdled  milk  from  the 
pan.  You  have  oaten  cakes  baked  some  months 
before  ;  or  bread  with  anise-seed  and  coriander 
in  it,  or  perhaps  a  little  pine  bark. 

Meanwhile  the  sturdy  husband  has  brought 
his  horses  from  the  plough,  and  harnessed  them 
to  your  carriage.  Solitary  travellers  come  and 
go  in  uncouth  one-horse  chaises.  Most  of  them 
have  pipes  in  their  mouths,  and  hanging  around 
their  necks  in  front,  a  leather  wallet,  in  which 
they  carry  tobacco,  and  the  great  bank  notes  of 
the  country,  as  large  as  your  two  hands.  You 


162        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

meet,  also,  groups  of  Dalekarlian  peasant 
women,  travelling  homeward  or  town-ward  in 
pursuit  of  work.  They  walk  barefoot,  carrying 
in  their  hands  their  shoes,  which  have  high 
heels  under  the  hollow  of  the  foot,  and  soles  of 
birch  bark. 

Frequent,  too,  are  the  village  churches,  stand 
ing  by  the  road-side,  each  in  its  own  little  gar 
den  of  Gethsemane.  In  the  parish  register 
great  events  are  doubtless  recorded.  Some  old 
king  was  christened  or  buried  in  that  church  ; 
and  a  little  sexton,  with  a  rusty  key,  shows  you 
the  baptismal  font,  or  the  coffin.  In  the  church 
yard  are  a  few  flowers,  and  much  green  grass  ; 
and  daily  the  shadow  of  the  church  spire,  with 
its  long  tapering  finger,  counts  the  tombs,  rep 
resenting  a  diai-plate  of  human  life,  on  which 
the  hours  and  minutes  are  the  graves  of 
men.  The  stones  are  flat,  and  large,  and  low, 
and  perhaps  sunken,  like  the  roofs  of  old  houses. 
On  some  are  armorial  bearings  ;  on  others  only 


PREFACE.  ifrj 

the  initials  of  the  poor  tenants,  with  a  date, 
as  on  the  roofs  of  Dutch  cottages.  They 
all  sleep  with  their  heads  to  the  westward. 
Each  held  a  lighted  taper  in  his  hand  when  he 
died  ;  and  in  his  coffin  were  placed  his  little 
heart-treasures,  and  a  piece  of  money  for  his 
last  journey.  Babes  that  came  lifeless  into  the 
world  were  carried  in  the  arms  of  gray-haired 
old  men  to  the  only  cradle  they  ever  slept  in  ; 
and  in  the  shroud  of  the  dead  mother  were  laid 
the  little  garments  of  the  child,  that  lived  and 
died  in  her  bosom.  And  over  this  scene  the 
village  pastor  looks  from  his  window  in  the 
stillness  of  midnight,  and  sa)'s  in  his  heart, 
"  How  quietly  they  rest,  all  the  departed  !  " 

Near  the  church-yard  gate  stands  a  poor- 
box,  fastened  to  a  post  by  iron  bands,  and 
secured  by  a  padlock,  with  a  sloping  wooden 
roof  to  keep  off  the  rain.  If  it  be  Sunday,  the 
peasants  sit  on  the  church  stepr  and  con  their 
psalm-books.  Others  are  corr..ng  down  the 


164        BALLADS  AND   OTlfEh-  POEMS. 

road  with  their  beloved  pastor,  who  talks  to 
them  of  holy  things  from  beneath  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat  He  speaks  of  fields  and  har 
vests,  and  of  the  parable  of  the  sower,  that 
went  forth  to  sow.  He  leads  them  to  the  Good 
Shepherd,  and  to  the  pleasant  pastures  of  the 
spirit-land.  He  is  their  patriarch,  and,  like 
Melchizedek,  both  priest  and  king,  though  he 
has  no  other  throne  than  the  church  pulpit. 
The  women  carry  psalm-books  in  their  hands, 
wrapped  in  silk  handkerchiefs,  and  listen  de 
voutly  to  the  good  man's  words.  But  the 
young  men,  like  Gallio,  care  for  none  of  these 
things.  They  are  busy  counting  the  plaits  in 
the  kirtles  of  the  peasant  girls,  their  number 
being  an  indication  of  the  wearer's  wealth.  It 
may  end  in  a  wedding. 

I  will  endeavour  to  describe  a  village  wedding 
in  Sweden.  It  shall  be  in  summer  time,  that 
there  may  be  flowers,  and  in  a  southern  prov 
ince,  that  the  bride  may  be  fair.  The  early 


PREFACE.  i6f 

song  of  the  lark  and  of  chanticleer  are  mingling 
in  the  clear  morning  air,  and  the  sun,  the  heav 
enly  bridegroom  with  golden  locks,  arises  in 
the  east,  just  as  our  earthly  bridegroom  with 
yellow  hair,  arises  in  the  south.  In  the  yard 
there  is  a  sound  of  voices  and  trampling  of 
hoofs,  and  horses  are  led  forth  and  saddled.  The 
steed  that  is  to  bear  the  bridegroom  has  a 
bunch  of  flowers  upon  his  forehead,  and  a  gar 
land  of  corn-flowers  around  his  neck.  Friends 
from  the  neighbouring  farms  come  riding  in, 
their  blue  cloaks  streaming  to  the  wind  ;  and 
finally  the  happy  bridegroom,  with  a  whip  in 
his  hand,  and  a  monstrous  nosegay  in  the 
breast  of  his  black  jacket,  comes  forth  from  his 
chamber  ;  and  then  to  horse  and  away,  towards 
the  village  where  the  bride  already  sits  and 
waits. 

Foremost  rides  the  Spokesman,  followed  by 
some  half  dozen  village  musicians.  Next  comes 
the  bridegroom  between  his  two  groomsmen, 


r66        BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

and  then  forty  or  fifty  friends  and  wedding 
guests,  half  of  them  perhaps  with  pistols  and 
guns  in  their  hands.  A  kind  of  baggage-wagon 
brings  up  the  rear,  laden  with  food  and  drink 
foi  these  merry  pilgrims.  At  the  entrance  of 
every  village  stands  a  triumphal  arch,  adorned 
with  flowers  and  ribands  and  evergreens ;  and 
as  they  pass  beneath  it  the  wedding  guests  fire 
a  salute,  and  the  whole  procession  stops.  And 
straight  from  every  pocket  flies  a  black-jack, 
filled  with  punch  or  brandy.  It  is  passed  from 
hand  to  hand  among  the  crowd  ;  provisions  are 
brought  from  the  wagon,  and  after  eating  and 
drinking  and  hurrahing,  the  procession  moves 
forward  again,  and  at  length  draws  near  the 
house  of  the  bride.  Four  heralds  ride  forward 
to  announce  that  a  knight  and  his  attendants 
are  in  the  neighbouring  forest,  and  pray  for  hos^ 
pitality.  "How  many  are  you  ?  "  asks  the 
bride's  father.  "At  least  three  hundred,"  is 
the  answer ;  and  to  this  the  host  replies,  "  Yes ; 


PREFACE.  161 

were  you  seven  times  as  many,  you  should  alf 
DC  welcome  ;  and  in  token  thereof  receive  this 
cup."  Whereupon  each  herald  receives  a  can 
of  ale  ;  and  soon  after  the  whole  jovial  company 
comes  storming  into  the  farmer's  yard,  and, 
riding  round  the  May-pole,  which  stands  in 
the  centre,  alights  amid  a  grand  salute  and 
flourish  of  music. 

In  the  hall  sits  the  bride,  with  a  crown  upon 
her  head  and  a  tear  in  her  eye,  like  the  Virgin 
Mary  in  old  church  paintings.  She  is  dressed 
in  a  red  boddice  and  kirtle,  with  loose  linen 
sleeves.  There  is  a  gilded  belt  around  her 
waist  ;  and  around  her  neck  strings  of  golden 
beads,  and  a  golden  chain.  On  the  crown  rests 
a  wreath  of  wild  roses,  and  below  it  another  of 
cypress.  Loose  over  her  shoulders  falls  her 
flaxen  hair  ;  and  her  blue  innocent  eyes  are 
fixed  upon  the  ground.  O  thou  good  soul  \ 
thou  hast  hard  hands,  but  a  soft  heart  !  Thou 
art  poor.  The  very  ornaments  thou  wearest 


168        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

are  not  thine.  They  have  been  hired  for  this 
great  day.  Yet  art  thou  rich  ;  rich  in  health, 
rich  in  hope,  rich  in  thy  first,  young,  fervent 
love.  The  blessing  of  heaven  be  upon  thee  ! 
So  thinks  the  parish  priest,  as  he  joins  together 
the  hands  of  bride  and  bridegroom,  saying  in 
deep,  solemn  tones, — "I  give  thee  in  marriage 
this  damsel,  to  be  thy  wedded  wife  in  all  honor, 
and  to  share  the  half  of  thy  bed,  thy  lock  and 
key,  and  every  third  penny  which  you  two  may 
possess,  or  may  inherit,  and  all  the  rights  which 
Upland's  laws  provide,  and  the  holy  king  Erik 
gave." 

The  dinner  is  now  served,  and  the  bride  sits 
between  the  bridegroom  and  the  priest.  The 
Spokesman  delivers  an  oration  after  the  ancient 
custom  of  his  fathers.  He  interlards  it  well 
with  quotations  from  the  Bible  ;  and  invites  the 
Saviour  to  be  present  at  this  marriage  feast,  as 
he  was  at  the  marriage  feast  in  Cana  of  Galilee. 
The  table  is  not  sparingly  set  forth.  Each 


PREFACE.  169 

makes  a  long  arm,  and  the  feast  goes  cheerily  on 
Punch  and  brandy  pass  round  between  the 
courses,  and  here  and  there  a  pipe  is  smoked, 
while  waiting  for  the  next  dish.  They  sit  long 
at  table ;  but,  as  all  things  must  have  an  end,  so 
must  a  Swedish  dinner.  Then  the  dance  begins. 
It  is  led  off  by  the  bride  and  the  priest,  who 
perform  a  solemn  minuet  together.  Not  till 
after  midnight  comes  the  Last  Dance.  The  girls 
form  a  ring  around  the  bride,  to  keep  her  from 
the  hands  of  the  married  women, who  endeavour 
to  break  through  the  magic  circle,  and  seize 
their  new  sister.  After  long  struggling  they 
succeed  ;  and  the  crown  is  taken  from  her  head 
and  the  jewels  from  her  neck,  and  her  boddice  is 
unlaced  and  her  kirtle  taken  off;  and  like  a  vestal 
virgin  clad  all  in  white  she  goes,  but  it  is  to  her 
marriage  chamber,  not  to  her  grave  ;  and  the 
wedding  guests  follow  her  with  lighted  caudles 
in  their  hands.  And  this  is  a  village  bridal. 
Nor  must  I  forget  the  suddenly  changing  sea- 


170        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

sons  of  the  Northern  clime.  There  is  no  long 
and  lingering  spring,  unfolding  leaf  and  blossom 
one  by  one ; — no  long  and  lingering  autumn, 
pompous  with  many-colored  leaves  and  the  glow 
of  Indian  summers.  But  winter  and  summer  are 
wonderful,  and  pass  into  each  other.  The  quail 
has  hardly  ceased  piping  in  the  corn,  when  win 
ter  from  the  folds  of  trailing  clouds  sows  broad 
cast  over  the  land  snow,  icicles,  and  rattling 
hail.  The  days  wane  apace.  Ere  long  the  sun 
hardly  rises  above  the  horizon,  or  does  not  rise 
at  all.  The  moon  and  the  stars  shine  througl? 
the  day  ;  only,  at  noon,  they  are  pale  and  wan, 
and  in  the  southern  sky  a  red,  fiery  glow,  as  of 
sunset,  burns  along  the  horizon,  and  then  goes 
out.  And  pleasantly  under  the  silver  moon, 
and  under  the  silent,  solemn  stars,  ring  the  steel- 
shoes  of  the  skaters  on  the  frozen  sea,  and 
voices,  and  the  sound  of  bells. 

And  now  the  Northern  Lights  begin  to  burn, 
faintly  at  first,  like  sunbeams  playing  in  the  wa- 


PREFACE.  171 

ters  of  the  blue  sea.  Then  a  soft  crimson  glow 
tinges  the  heavens.  There  is  a  blush  on  the 
cheek  of  night.  The  colors  come  and  go  ;  and 
change  from  crimson  to  gold,  from  gold  to 
crimson.  The  snow  is  stained  with  rosy  light. 
Twofold  from  the  zenith,  east  and  west,  flames 
a  fiery  sword  ;  and  a  broad  band  passes  athwart 
the  heavens,  like  a  summer  sunset.  Soft  pur 
ple  clouds  come  sailing  over  the  sky,  and 
through  their  vapory  folds  the  winking  stars 
shine  white  as  silver.  With  such  pomp  as  this 
is  Merry  Christmas  ushered  in,  though  only  a 
single  star  heralded  the  first  Christmas.  And 
in  memory  of  that  day  the  Swedish  peasants 
dance  on  straw  ;  and  the  peasant  girls  throw 
straws  at  the  timbered  roof  of  the  hall,  and  for 
every  one  that  sticks  in  a  crack  shall  a  grooms 
man  come  to  their  wedding.  Merry  Christmas, 
indeed  !  For  pious  souls  there  shall  be  church 
songs  and  sermons,  but  for  Swedish  peasants, 
brandy  and  nut  brown  ale  in  wooden  bowls ; 


•72        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

and  the  great  Yulecake  crowned  with  a  cheese, 
and  garlanded  with  apples,  and  upholding  4 
three-armed  candlestick  over  the  Christmas 
feast.  They  may  tell  tales,  too,  of  Jons  Lunds- 
bracka,  and  Lunkenfus,  and  the  great  Riddar 
Finke  of  Pingsdaga.* 

And  now  the  glad,  leafy  mid-summer,  full 
of  blossoms  and  the  song  of  nightingales,  is 
come  !  Saint  John  has  taken  the  flowers  and 
festival  of  heathen  Balder  ;  and  in  every  village 
there  is  a  May-pole  fifty  feet  high,  with  wreaths 
and  roses  and  ribands  streaming  in  the  wind, 
and  a  noisy  weathercock  on  top,  to  tell  the 
village  whence  the  wind  cometh  and  whither 
it  goeth.  The  sun  does  not  set  till  ten  o'clock 
at  night ;  and  the  children  are  at  play  in  the 
streets  an  hour  later.  The  windows  and  doors 
are  all  open,  and  you  may  sit  and  read  till  mid 
night  without  a  candle.  O  how  beautiful  is 

*  Titles  of  Swedish  popular  tales. 


PREFACE.  173 

the  summer  night,  which  is  not  night,  but  a 
sunless  yet  unclouded  day,  descending  upon 
earth  with  dews,  and  shadows,  and  refreshing 
coolness  !  How  beautiful  the  long,  mild  twi 
light,  which  like  a  silver  clasp  unites  to-day 
with  yesterday  !  How  beautiful  the  silent  hour, 
when  Morning  and  Evening  thus  sit  together, 
hand  in  hand,  beneath  the  starless  sky  of  mid 
night  !  From  the  church-tower  in  the  public 
square  the  bell  tolls  the  hour,  with  a  soft, 
musical  chime  ;  and  the  watchman,  whose 
watch-tower  is  the  belfry,  blows  a  blast  in  his 
horn,  for  each  stroke  of  the  hammer,  and  four 
times,  to  the  four  corners  of  the  heavens,  in  a 
sonorous  voice  he  chaunts, — 

"  Ho  !  watchman,  ho  ! 
Twelve  is  the  clock ! 
God  keep  our  town 
From  fire  and  brand 
And  hostile  hand  ! 
Twelve  is  the  clock !  ** 


174        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

From  his  swallow's  nest  in  the  belfry  he  can 
see  the  sun  all  night  long  ;  and  farther  north 
the  priest  stands  at  his  door  in  the  warm  m id- 
night,  and  lights  his  pipe  with  a  common  burn 
ing  glass. 

I  trust  that  these  remarks  will  not  be  deemed 
irrelevant  to  the  poem,  but  will  lead  to  a  clearer 
understanding  of  it.  The  translation  is  literal, 
perhaps  to  a  fault.  In  no  instance  have  I  done 
the  author  a  wrong,  by  introducing  into  his 
work  any  supposed  improvements  or  embellish 
ments  of  my  own.  I  have  preserved  even  the 
measure  ;  that  inexorable  hexameter,  in  which, 
it  must  be  confessed,  the  motions  of  the  English 
Muse  are  not  unlike  those  of  a  prisoner  dancing 
to  the  music  of  his  chains  ;  and  perhaps,  as  Dr. 
Johnson  said  of  the  dancing  dog,  "  the  wonder 
is  not  that  she  should  do  it  so  well,  but  that  she 
should  do  it  at  all." 

Esaias  Tegne>,  the  author  of  this  poem,  was 
born  in  the  parish  of  By  in  Warmland,  in  the 


PREFACE.  175 

year  1782.  In  1799  he  entered  the  University 
of  Lund,  as  a  student;  and  in  1812  was  ap 
pointed  Professor  of  Greek  in  that  institution. 
In  1824  he  became  Bishop  of  Wexio,  which  of 
fice  he  still  holds.  He  stands  first  among  a.U 
the  poets  of  Sweden,  living  or  dead.  His  prin 
cipal  work  is  Frithiofs  Saga  ;  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  poems  of  the  age.  This  modern 
Scald  has  written  his  name  in  immortal  runes. 
He  is  the  glory  and  boast  of  Sweden  ;  a  prophet, 
honored  in  his  own  country,  and  adding  one 
more  to  the  list  of  great  names,  that  adorn  her 
history. 


THE  SKELETON   IN  ARMOUR. 


[T^e  following  Ballad  was  suggested  to  me  while  rid 
ing  en  the  seashore  at  Newport.  A  year  or  two  previ 
ous  a  skeleton  had  been  dug  up  at  Fall  River,  clad  in 
broken  and  corroded  armour  ;  and  the  idea  occurred  to 
me  of  connecting  it  with  the  Round  Tower  at  Newport, 
generally  known  hitherto  as  the  Old  Wind-Mill,  though 
now  claimed  b>  the  Danes  as  a  work  of  their  early 
ancestors;  Proteasor  Rafn,  in  the  Mtmoires  de  la 
Socittt  Royale  des  Antiguaires  du  Nord,  for  1838-1839, 
says  ; 

"  There  is  no  mistaking  in  this  instance  the  style  in 
which  the  more  ancient  stone  edifices  of  the  North  were 
constructed,  the  style  which  belongs  to  the  Roman  or 
A.nte-Gothic  architecture,  and  which,  especially  after 
the  time  of  Charlemagne,  diffused  itself  from  Italy  over 
the  whole  of  the  West  and  North  of  Europe,  where  it 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOUR.          177 

continued  to  predominate  until  the  close  of  the  I2th 
century  ;  that  style,  which  some  authors  have,  from  one 
of  its  most  striking  characteristics,  called  the  round  arch 
style,  the  same  which  in  England  is  denominated  Saxon 
and  sometimes  Norman  architecture. 

"  On  the  ancient  structure  in  Newport  there  are  no 
ornaments  remaining,  which  might  possibly  have  served 
to  guide  us  in  assigning  the  probable  date  of  its  erection. 
That  no  vestige  whatever  is  found  of  the  pointed  arch, 
nor  any  approximation  to  it,  is  indicative  of  an  earlier 
rather  than  of  a  later  period.  From  such  characteristics 
as  remain,  however,  we  can  scarcely  form  any  other 
inference  than  one,  in  which  I  am  persuaded  that  all, 
who  are  familiar  with  Old-Northern  architecture,  will 

concur,  THAT  THIS  BUILDING  WAS  ERECTED  AT  A 
PERIOD  DECIDEDLY  NOT  LATER  THAN  THE  I2TH  CEN 
TURY.  This  remark  applies,  of  course,  to  the  original 
building  only,  and  not  to  the  alterations  that  it  subse 
quently  received ;  for  there  are  several  such  alterations 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  building  which  cannot  be  mis 
taken,  and  which  were  most  likely  occasioned  by  its 
being  adapted  in  modern  times  to  various  uses,  for 
example  as  the  substructure  of  a  wind-mill,  and  latterly 
as  a  hay  magazine.  To  the  same  times  may  be  referred 


178        BALLADS  AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

the  windows,  tAie  fire-place,  and  the  apertures  made 
above  the  columns.  That  this  building  could  not  have 
been  erected  for  a  wind-mill,  is  what  an  architect  will 
easily  discern." 

I  will  not  enter  into  a  discussion  of  the  point.  It  is 
sufficiently  well  established  for  the  purpose  of  a  ballad ; 
though  doubtless  many  an  honest  citizen  of  Newport, 
who  has  passed  his  days  within  sight  of  the  Round 
Tower,  will  be  ready  to  exclaim  with  Sancho  ;  "  God 
bless  me  !  did  I  not  warn  you  to  have  a  care  of  what  you 
were  doing,  for  that  it  was  nothing  but  a  wind-mill ; 
and  nobody  could  mistake  it,  but  one  who  had  the  like 
in  his  head."] 


SPEAK  !  speak  !  thou  fearful  guest  1 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
Still  in  rude  armour  drest, 

Comest  to  daunt  me  ! 
Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms, 
But  with  thy  fleshless  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 

Why  dost  thou  haunt  me  ?  " 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOUR.  179 

Then,  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise, 
As  when  the  Northern  skies 

Gleam  in  December  ; 
And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December's  snow, 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 

From  the  heart's  chamber. 


3"  I  was  a  Viking  old  ! 

My  deeds,  though  manifold, 
No  Skald  in  song  has  told, 

No  Saga  taught  thee  ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse, 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse ! 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

"  Far  in  the  Northern  Land, 
By  the  wild  Baltic's  strand, 


r8a        BALLADS  AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

I,  with  my  childish  hand, 

Tamed  the  ger-falcon; 
And,  with  my  skates  fast-bound, 
Skimmed  the  half-frozen  Sound, 
That  the  poor  whimpering  hound 
Trembled  to  walk  on. 


"  Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear, 
While  from  my  path  the  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow  ; 
Oft  through  the  forest  dark 
Followed  the  were-wolf s  bark, 
Until  the  soaring  lark 

Sang  from  the  meadow. 

"  But  when  I  older  grew, 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew, 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 
With  the  marauders. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOUR.  i8f 

Wild  was  the  life  we  led ; 
Many  the  souls  that  sped, 
Many  the  hearts  that  bled, 
By  our  stern  orders. 

"  Many  a  wassail-bout 
Wore  the  long  Winter  out ; 
Often  our  midnight  shout 

Set  the  cocks  crowing. 
As  we  the  Berserk's  tale 
Measured  in  cups  of  ale, 
Draining  the  oaken  pail, 

Filled  to  o'erflowing. 

Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 

Burning  yet  tender  ; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 


BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS, 

On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 
Fell  their  soft  splendor. 

"  I  wooed  the  blue-eyed  maid, 
Yielding,  yet  half  afraid, 
And  in  the  forest's  shade 

Our  vows  were  plighted. 
Under  its  loosened  vest 
Fluttered  her  little  breast, 
Like  birds  within  their  nest 

By  the  hawk  frighted. 

"  Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shields  gleamed  upon  the  wall, 
Loud  sang  the  minstrels  all, 

Chaunting  his  glory  ; 
When  of  old  Hildebrand 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand, 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 


THE   SKELETON  IN  ARMOUR.          183 

"  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed, 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed, 
And  as  the  wind-gusts  waft 
The  sea-foam  brightly, 
So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking-horn 
Blew  the  foam  lightly. 

"  She  was  a  Prince's  child, 
I  but  a  Viking  wild, 
And  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 

I  was  discarded  ! 
Should  not  the  dove  so  white 
Follow  the  sea-mew's  flight, 
Why  did  they  leave  that  night 

Her  nest  unguarded  ? 

i 

"  Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me,— 


BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEM& 

Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen ! — 

When  on  the  white  sea-strand, 

Waving  his  armed  hand, 

Saw  we  old  Hildebrand, 
With  twenty  horsemen. 

"  Then  launched  they  to  the  blast, 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast, 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast, 

When  the  wind  failed  us  ; 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw, 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 

Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 

"  And  as  to  catch  the  gale 

Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
Death  !  was  the  helmsman's  haiL 
Death  without  quarter ! 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOUR.          18 

Mid-ships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 
Through  the  black  water  1 

"  As  with  his  wings  aslant, 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt, 

With  his  prey  laden, 
So  toward  the  open  main, 
Beating  to  sea  again, 
Through  the  wild  hurricane, 

Bore  I  the  maiden. 

*'  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore, 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 
Stretching  to  lea-ward  ; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower, 


!86    BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

Which,  to  this  very  hour, 

Stands  looking  sea-ward. 

"  There  lived  we  many  years  ; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears, 

She  was  a  mother ; 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes, 
Under  that  tower  she  lies  ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 

On  such  another  1 

*'  Still  grew  my  bosom  then, 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen  ! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 

The  sun-light  hateful ! 
In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear, 

O,  death  was  grateful  J 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOUR.          187 

"  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars, 
Bursting  these  prison  bars, 
Up  to  its  native  stars 

My  soul  ascended  ! 
There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul, 
Skoal !  to  the  Northland  !  skoal/  "  * 
— Thus  the  tale  ended. 


*  In  Scandanavia  this  is  the  customary  salutation  when 
drinking  a  hea'.tb.  I  have  slightly  changed  the  orthog 
raphy  of  the  woid,  in  order  to  preserve  the  correct  pro 
nunciation. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS. 


IT  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea  ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy-flax, 

Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 

That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

* 
The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

With  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
And  v/atched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blov 

The  smoke  now  West,  now  South. 


THE    WRECK  OF    THE  HESPERUS.         189 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  Sail6r, 
Had  sailed  the  Spanish  Main, 

I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port, 
For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 


Last  night,  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 
And  to-night  no  moon  we  see  !  " 

The  skipper,  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 
And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  Northeast  ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain, 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She   shuddered    and    paused,  like   a  frighted 
steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 


190        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

'  Gome  hither  !  come  hither  !  my  little  daugh 

ter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gait. 
That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman'?  coal 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"  O  father  !  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be?  " 
"  'T  is  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast !  "- 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  O  father  !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea  !  " 


THE   WRECK  OF   THE  HESPERUS.         ig\ 

"  O  father  !  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 


Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark. 

With  his  face  to  the  skies, 
The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  snow 

On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 


Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  wave, 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 


And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 


i  ga   BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 
A  sound  came  from  the  land  ; 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf, 
On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 


The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 


She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  wave: 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 


Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board  ; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  rtrove  and  sank, 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roared  ! 


THE    WRECK  OF    THE  HESPERUS.        193 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea  beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 


The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 


Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 
In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ! 

Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this5 
On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 


THE  LUCK  OF  EDENHALL. 


FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF  UHLAND. 

[The  tradition,  upon  which  this  ballad  is  founded,  and 
the  "  shards  of  the  Luck  of  Edenhall,"  still  exist  in 
England.  The  goblet  is  in  the  possession  of  Sir  Christo 
pher  Musgrave,  Bart.,  of  Eden  Hall,  Cumberland;  and 
is  not  so  entirely  shattered,  as  the  ballad  leaves  it.] 


OF  Edenhall,  the  youthful  Lord 
Bids  sound  the  festal  trumpet's  call ; 
He  rises  at  the  banquet  board, 
And  cries,  'mid  the  drunken  revellers  all, 
"  No\v  bring  me  the  Luck  of  Edenhall !  " 


THE  LUCK  OF  EDENHALL.  195 

The  butler  hears  the  words  with  pain, 
The  house's  oldest  seneschal, 
Takes  slow  from  its  silken  cloth  again 
The  drinking  glass  of  crystal  tall  ; 
They  call  it  The  Luck  of  Edenhall. 

Then  said  the  Lord  ;  "  This  glass  to  praise, 

Fill  with  red  wine  from  Portugal  !  " 

The  gray-beard  with  trembling  hand  obeys  ; 

A  purple  light  shines  over  all, 

It  beams  from  the  Luck  of  Edenhall. 

Then  speaks  the  Lord,  and  waves  it  light, 
"  This  glass  of  flashing  crystal  tall 

Gave  to  my  sires  the  Fountain-Sprite ; 
She  wrote  in  it  ;  If  this  glass  dotli  fall 
Farewell  then,  O  Luck  of  Edenhall ! 

"  'T  was  right  a  goblet  the  Fate  should  be 
Of  the  joyous  race  of  Edenhall ! 


196        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Deep  draughts  drink  we  right  willingly  ; 
And  willingly  ring,  with  merry  call, 
Kling  !  klang  !  to  the  Luck  of  Edenhall !  " 

First  rings  it  deep,  and  full,  and  mild, 
Like  to  the  song  of  a  nightingale ; 
Then  like  the  roar  of  a  torrent  wild ; 

Then  mutters  at  last  like  the  thunder's  fall, 

The  glorious  Luck  of  Edenhall. 

"  Wor  its  keeper  takes  a  race  of  might, 
The  fragile  goblet  of  crystal  tall ; 
It  has  lasted  longer  than  is  right ; 
Kling  !  klang  ! — with  a  harder  blow  than  all 
Will  I  try  the  Luck  of  Edenhall !  " 

As  the  goblet  ringing  flies  apart, 
Suddenly  cracks  the  vaulted  hall  ; 
And  through  the  rift,  the  wild  flames  start; 
The  guests  in  dust  are  scattered  all, 
With  the  breaking  Luck  of  Edenhall ! 


THE  LUCK  OF  EDENHALL.  197 

In  storms  the  foe,  with  fire  and  sword  ; 
He  in  the  night  had  scaled  the  wall, 
Slain  by  the  sword  lies  the  youthful  Lord, 
But  holds  in  his  hand  the  crystal  tall, 
The  shattered  Luck  of  Edenhall. 

On  the  morrow  the  butler  gropes  alone, 
The  gray-beard  in  the  desert  hall, 
He  seeks  his  Lord's  burnt  skeleton, 
He  seeks  in  the  dismal  ruin's  fall 
The  shards  of  the  Luck  of  EdenhaU. 

"  The  stone  wall,"  saith  he,  "  doth  (ail  aside. 
Down  must  the  stately  columns  fall  , 
Glass  is  this  earth's  Luck  and  Pride  • 
In  atoms  shall  fall  this  earthly  ball 
One  day  like  the  Luck  of  Edenhall ! " 


THE  ELECTED  KNIGHT 


FROM   THE   DANISH. 


[The  following  strange  and  somewhat  mystical  ballad 
is  from  Nyerup  and  Rahbek's  Danske  Viser  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  It  seems  to  refer  to  the  first  preaching 
of  Christianity  in  the  North,  and  to  the  institution  of 
Knight-Errantry.  The  three  maidens  I  suppose  to  be 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity.  The  irregularities  of  the  orig 
inal  have  been  carefully  preserved  in  the  translation.] 


SIR  OLUF  he  rideth  over  the  plain, 

Full  seven  miles   broad   and   seven    miles 
wide, 

But  never,  ah  never  can  meet  with  the  man 
A  tilt  with  him  dare  ride. 


THE  ELECTED  KNIGHT.  \gg 

He  saw  under  the  hill-side 

A  Knight  full  well  equipped* 
His  steed  was  black,  his  helm  was  barred ; 

He  was  riding  at  full  speed. 


He  wore  upon  his  spurs 

Twelve  little  golden  birds  ; 
Anon  he  spurred  his  steed  with  a  clang, 

And  there  sat  all  the  birds  and  sang. 

He  wore  upon  his  mail 

Twelve  little  golden  wheels  ; 
A.non  in  eddies  the  wild  wind  blew, 

A.nd  round  and  round  the  wheels  they  flew 

He  wore  before  his  breast 

A  lance  that  was  poised  in  rest ; 

And  it  was  sharper  than  diamond-stone, 
It  made  Sir  Oluf's  heart  to  groan. 


200        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

He  wore  upon  his  helm, 

A  wreath  of  ruddy  gold  ; 
And  that  gave  him  the  Maidens  Three, 

The  youngest  was  fair  to  behold. 

Sir  Oluf  questioned  the  Knight  eftsoon 
If  he  were  come  from  heaven  down  ; 
"  Art  thou  Christ  of  Heaven,"  quoth  he, 
"  So  will  I  yield  me  unto  thee." 


"  I  am  not  Christ  the  Great, 

Thou  shalt  not  yield  thee  yet ; 
I  am  an  Unknown  Knight, 

Three  modest  Maidens  have  me  bedight.  * 


"  Art  thou  a  Knight  elected, 

And  have  three  Maidens  thee  bedight ; 
So  shalt  thou  ride  a  tilt  this  day, 
For  all  the  Maidens'  honor  !  " 


THE  ELECTED  KNIGHT.  201 

The  first  tilt  they  together  rode 
They  put  their  steeds  to  the  test ; 

The  second  tilt  they  together  rode, 
They  proved  their  manhood  best 


The  third  tilt  they  together  rode, 
Neither  of  them  would  yield  ; 

The  fourth  tilt  they  together  rode, 
They  both  fell  on  the.  field. 


Now  lie  the  lords  upon  the  plain, 
And  their  blood  runs  unto  death  ; 

Now  sit  the  Maidens  in  the  high  tower< 
The  youngest  sorrows  till  death. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S 
SUPPER. 


FROM   THE   SWEDISH   OF  BISHOP  TEGNiSR. 


PENTECOST,  day  of  rejoicing,  had  come.     The 

church  of  the  village 
Stood  gleaming  white  in  the  morning's  sheen. 

On  the  spire  of  the  belfry, 
Tipped  with  a  vane  of  metal,  the  friendly  flames 

of  the  Spring-sun 
Glanced  like   the   tongues   of  fire,    beheld    by 

Apostles  aforetime. 
Clear  was  the  heaven  and  blue,  and  May,  with 

her  cap  crowned  with  roses, 
Stood  in  her  holiday  dress  in  the  fields,  and  the 

wind  and  the  brooklet 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     203 

Murmured  gladness    and   peace,    God's-peace ! 

With  lips  rosy-tinted 
Whispered  the  race  of  the  flowers,  and  merry 

on  balancing  branches 
Birds  were  singing  their  carol,  a  jubilant  hymn 

to  the  Highest. 
Swept  and  clean  was  the  churchyard.     Adorned 

like  a  leaf-woven  arbour 
Stood  its  old-fashioned  gate  ;  and  within  upon 

each  cross  of  iron 
Hung  was  a  sweet-scented  garland,  new  twined 

by  the  hands  of  affection. 
Even  the  dial,  that  stood  on  a  fountain  among 

the  departed, 
(There  full  a  hundred  years  had  it  stood,)  was 

embellished  with  blossoms. 
Like  to  the  patriarch  hoary,  the  sage  of  his  kith 

and  the  hamlet, 
Who  on  his  birth-day  is  crowned  by  children 

and  children's  children, 
So  stood  the  ancient  prophet,  and  mute  with  his 

pencil  of  iron 


204        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Marked  on  the  tablet  of  stone,  and  measured 

the  swift-changing  moment, 
While  all  around  at  his  feet,  an  eternity  slum 

bered  in  quiet. 
Also  the  church  within  was  adorned,  for  this 

was  the  season 
In  which  the  young,  their  parents'  hope,  and 

the  loved-ones  of  heaven, 
Should  at  the  foot  of  the  altar  renew  the  vows 

of  their  baptism. 
Therefore  each  nook  and  corner  was  swept  and 

cleaned,  and  the  dust  was 
Blown  from  the  walls  and  ceiling,  and  from  the 

oil-painted  benches. 
There  stood  the  church  like  a  garden  ;  the  Feast 

of  the  Leafy  Pavilions  * 
Saw  we  in   living   presentment.     From   noble 

arms  on  the  church  wall 

Grew  forth  a  cluster  of  leaves,  and  the  preach 
er's  pulpit  of  oak-wood 

*  The  Feast  of  the   Tabernacles  ;  in   Swedish,   Lof 
hyddohogtiden,  the  Leaf-huts'-high-tide. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     205 

Budded  once  more  anew,  as  aforetime  the  rod 

before  Aaron. 
Wreathed  thereon  was  the   Bible  with  leaves, 

and  the  dove,  washed  with  silver, 
Under  its  canopy  fastened,  a  necklace  had  on 

of  wind-flowers. 
But  in  front  of  the  choir,  round  the  ahar-piece 

painted  by  Horberg,'* 
Crept    a  garland    gigantic  ;  and   bright-curling 

tresses  of  angels 
Peeped,  like  the  sun  from  a  cloud,  out  of  the 

shadowy  leaf-work. 
Likewise   the    lustre    of    brass,    new-polished, 

blinked  from  the  ceiling, 
A.nd  for  lights  there  were  lilies  of  Pentecost  set 

in  the  sockets. 


Loud  rang  the  bells  already ;  the  thronging 
crowd  was  assembled 

*  The  peasant-painter  of  Sweden.     He  is  known  chiefly 
jy  his  altar-pieces  in  the  village  churches. 


206        BALLADS  AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

Far  from  valleys  and  hills,  to  list  to  the  holy 

preaching. 
Hark  !  then  roll  forth  at  once  the  mighty  tones 

from  the  organ, 
Hover  like  voices  from  God,  aloft  like  invisible 

spirits. 
Like  as  Elias  in  heaven,  when  he  cast  off  from 

him  his  mantle, 
Even  so  cast  off  the  soul  its  garments  of  earth  ; 

and  with  one  voice 

Chimed  in  the  congregation,  and  sang  an  an 
them  immortal 
Of  the  sublime  Wallin,*  of  David's  harp  in  the 

North-land 
Tuned  to  the  choral  of  Luther  ;  the  song  on  its 

powerful  pinions 
Took  every  living  soul,  and  lifted  it  gently  to 

heaven, 


*  A  distinguished  pulpit-orator  and  poet.  He  is  par« 
ticularly  remarkable  for  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  his 
psalms. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     207 

And  every  face  did  shine  like  the  Holy  One's 
face  upon  Tabor. 

Lo !  there  entered  then  into  the  church  the 
Reverend  Teacher. 

Father  he  hight  and  he  was  in  the  parish  ;  a 
christianly  plainness 

Clothed  from  his  head  to  his  feet  the  old  man 
of  seventy  winters. 

Friendly  was  he  to  behold,  and  glad  as  the  her 
alding  angel 

Walked  he  among  the  crowds,  but  still  a  con 
templative  grandeur 

Lay  on  his  forehead  as  clear,  as  on  moss-cov 
ered  grave-stone  a  sun-beam. 

As  in  his  inspiration  (an  evening  twilight  that 
faintly 

Gleams  in  the  human  soul,  even  now,  from  the 
day  of  creation) 

Th'  Artist,  the  friend  of  heaven,  imagines  Saint 
John  when  in  Patmos  ; — 

Gray,  with  his  eyes  uplifted  to  heaven,  so 
seemed  then  the  old  maa  ; 


208        BALLADS  AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

Such  was  the  glance  of  his  eye,  and  such  were 

his  tresses  of  silver. 
All  the  congregation   arose  in  the  pews   that 

were  numbered. 
But  with  a  cordial  look,  to  the  right  and  the  left 

hand,  the  old  man 
Nodding  all  hail  and  peace,  disappeared  in  the 

innermost  chancel. 


Simply  and  solemnly  now  proceeded  the 
Christian  service, 

Singing  and  prayer,  and  at  last  an  ardent  dis 
course  from  the  old  man. 

Many  a  moving  word  and  warning,  that  out  of 
the  heart  came 

Fell  like  the  dew  of  the  morning,  like  manna  on 
those  in  the  desert. 

Afterwards,  when  all  was  finished,  the  Teacher 
recntered  the  chancel, 

Followed  therein  by  the  young.  On  the  right 
hand  the  boys  had  their  places, 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD^S  SUPPER.    203 

Delicate  figures,  with  close-curling  hair  and 
cheeks  rosy-blooming. 

But  on  the  left-hand  of  these,  there  stood  the 
tremulous  lilies, 

Tinged  with  the  blushing  light  of  the  morning, 
the  diffident  maidens, — • 

Folding  their  hands  in  prayer,  and  their  eyes 
cast  down  on  the  pavement. 

Now  came,  with  question  and  answer,  the  cate 
chism.  In  the  beginning 

Answered  the  children  with  troubled  and  falter 
ing  voice,  but  the  old  man's 

Glances  of  kindness  encouraged  them  soon,  and 
the  doctrines  eternal 

Flowed,  like  the  waters  of  fountains,  so  clear 
from  lips  unpolluted. 

Whene'er  the  answer  was  closed,  and  as  oft  as 
they  named  the  Redeemer, 

Lowly  louted  the  boys,  and  lowly  the  maidens 
all  courtesied. 

Friendly  the  Teacher  stood,  like  an  angel  of 

light  there  among  them, 
14 


210        BALLADS  AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

And  to  the  children  explained  he  the  holy,  the 

highest,  in  few  words, 
Thorough,  yet  simple  and  clear,  for  sublimity 

always  is  simple,  ^ 

Both  in  sermon  and  song,  a  child  can  seize  on 

its  meaning. 
Even   as   the   green-growing   bud   is  unfolded 

when  Spring-tide  approaches 
Leaf  by  leaf  is  developed,  and,  warmed  by  the 

radiant  sunshine, 
Blushes  with  purple  and  gold,  till  at  last  the 

perfected  blossom 
Opens  its  odorous  chalice,  and  rocks  with  its 

crown  in  the  breezes, 

So  was  unfolded  here  the  Christian  lore  of  sal 
vation, 
Line  by  line  from  the  soul  of  childhood.     The 

fathers  and  mothers 
Stood  behind  them  in  tears,  and  were  glad  at 

each  well-worded  answer. 

Now  went  the  old  man  up  to  the  altar ;— -and 
straightway  transfigured 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     211 

(So  did  it  seem  unto  me)  was  then  the  affection 
ate  Teacher. 

Like  the  Lord's  Prophet  sublime,  and  awful  as 
Death  and  as  Judgment 

Stood   he,   the    God-commissioned,    the    soul- 
searcher,  earthward  descending. 

Glances,  sharp  as  a  sword,  into  hearts,  that  to 
him  were  transparent 

Shot  he  ;  his  voice  was  deep,  was  low  like  the 
thunder  afar  off. 

So  on  a  sudden  transfigured  he  stood  there,  he 
spake  and  he  questioned. 


"This  'is  the  faith  of  the  Fathers,  the  faith 

the  Apostles  delivered, 
This  is  moreover  the  faith  whereunto  I  baptized 

you,  while  still  ye 
Lay  on   your   mothers'  breasts,  and   nearer  die 

portals  of  heaven. 
Slumbering  received  you  then  the  Holy  Church 

in  its  bosom  ; 


112         BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Wakened  from  sleep  are  ye  now,  and  the  light 
in  its  radiant  splendor 

Rains  from  the  heaven  downward  ; — to-day  on 
the  threshold  of  childhood 

Kindly  she  frees  you  again,  to  examine  and 
make  your  election, 

For  she  knows  nought  of  compulsion,  only  con 
viction  desireth. 

This  is  the  hour  of  your  trial,  the  turning-point 
of  existence, 

Seed  for  the  coming  days ;  without  revocation 
departeth 

Now  from  your  lips  the  confession  ;  Bethink  ye, 
before  ye  make  answer  ! 

Think  not,  O  think  not  with  guile  to  deceive  the 
questioning  Teacher. 

Sl.arp  is  his  eye  to-day,  and  a  curse  ever  rests 
upon  falsehood. 

Enter  not  with  a  lie  on  Life's  journey ;  the  mul 
titude  hears  you, 

Brothers  and  sisters  and  parents,  what  dear  upor/ 
earth  is  and  holy 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     213 

Standeth  before  your  sight  as  a  witness  ;  the 

Judge  everlasting 
Looks  from  the  sun  down  upon  you,  and  angela 

in  waiting  beside  him 
Grave  your  confession  in  letters  of  fire,  upon 

tablets  eternal. 
Thus  then, — believe   ye  in  God,  in  the  Father 

who  this  world  created  ? 
Him  who  redeemed  it,  the  Son,  and  the  Spirit 

where  both  are  united  ? 
Will  ye  promise  me  here,  (a  holy  promise  Jt   to 

cherish 
God   more  than   all  things  earthly,    and  every 

man  as  a  brother  ? 
Will  ye  promise  me  here,  to  confirm  your  faith 

by  your  living, 

Th'  heavenly  faith  of  affection  !  to  hope,  to  for 
give,  and  to  suffer, 
Be  what  it  may  your  condition,  and  walk  before 

God  in  uprightness  ? 
Will  ye  promise  me  this  before  God  and  man  ?  ' 

— With  a  clear  voice 


214        BALLADS   AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

Answered  the  young  men  Yes  !  and  Yes  !  with 
lips  softly-breathing 

Answered  the  maidens  eke.  Then  dissolved 
from  the  brow  of  the  Teacher 

Clouds  with  the  thunders  therein,  and  he  spake 
on  in  accents  more  gentle, 

Soft  as  the  evening's  breath,  as  harps  by  Baby 
lon's  rivers. 


"  Hail,  then,  hail  to  you  all !  To  -the  heir 
dom  of  heaven  be  ye  welcome  ! 

Children  no  more  from  this  day,  but  by  cove 
nant  brothers  and  sisters  ! 

Yet, — for  what  reason  not  children  ?  Of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

Here  upon  earth  an  assemblage  of  children,  in 
heaven  one  father, 

Ruling  them  as  his  own  household, — forgiving  in 
turn  and  chastising, 

That  is  of  human  life  a  picture,  as  Scripture  has 
taught  us. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     21$ 

Blessed  are  the  pure  before  God  !    Upon  purity 

and  upon  virtue 
Resteth  the   Christian   Faith  ;  she  herself  from 

on  high  is  descended. 
Strong  as  a  man  and  pure  as  a  child,  is  the  sum 

of  the  doctrine, 
Which  the  Godlike  delivered,  and  on  the  cross 

suffered  and  died  for. 

O !  as  ye  wander  this  day  from  childhood's  sa 
cred  asylum 
Downward  and  ever  downward,  and  deeper  in 

Age's  chill  valley, 
O  !  how  soon  will  ye  come, — too  soon  ! — and 

long  to  turn  backward 
Up  to  its   hill-tops   again,  to  the  sun-illumined, 

where  Judgment 
Stood  like  a  father  before  you,  and  Pardon,  clad 

like  a  mother, 
Gave  you  her  hand  to  kiss,  and  the  loving  heart 

was  forgiven, 
Life  was  a  play  and  your  hands  grasped  aftef 

the  roses  of  heaven  ! 


si6         BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Seventy  years  have  I  lived  already  ;  the  fathet 
eternal 

Gave  to  me  gladness  and  care  ;  but  the  lovelies! 
hours  of  existence, 

When  I  have   steadfastly  gazed  in  their  eyes,  I 
have  instantly  known  them, 

Known  them  all,  all  again  ; — they  were  my  child 
hood's  acquaintance. 

Therefore  take  from  henceforth,  as  guides  in  the 
paths  of  existence, 

Prayer,  with  her  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  and  In 
nocence,  bride  of  man's  childhood. 

Innocence,  child  beloved,  is  a  guest  from  the 
world  of  the  blessed, 

Beautiful,  and  in  her  hand  a  lily ;  on  life's  roar 
ing  billows 

Swings  she  in  safety,  she  heedeth  them  not,  in 
the  ship  she  is  sleeping. 

Calmly  she  gazes  around  in  the  turmoil  of  men  ; 
in  the  desert 

Angels  descend  and  minister  unto  her  ;  she  her 
self  knoweth 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LOAD'S  SUPPER.     217 

Naught  of  her  glorious  attendance  ;  but  follows 
faithful  and  humble, 

Follows  so  long  as  she  may  her  friend  ;  O  do 
not  reject  her, 

For  she  cometh  from  God  and  she  holdeth  the 
keys  of  the  heavens. — 

Prayer  is  Innocence'  friend  ;  and  willingly  flieth 
incessant 

'Twixt  the  earth  and  the  sky,  the  carrier-pigeon 
of  heaven. 

Son  of  Eternity,  fettered  in  Time,  and  an  exile, 
the  Spirit 

Tugs  at  his  chains  evermore,  and  struggles  like 
flames  ever  upward. 

Still  he  recalls  with  emotion  his  father's  mani 
fold  mansions, 

Thinks  of  the  land  of  his  fathers,  where  blos 
somed  more  freshly  the  flowers, 

Shone  a  more  beautiful  sun,  and  he  played  with 
the  winged  angels. 

Then  grows  the  earth  too  narrow,  too  close ; 
and  homesick  for  heaven 


2i8        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Longs  the  wanderer  again  ;  and  the  Spirit's 
longings  are  worship ; 

Worship  is  called  his  most  beautiful  hour,  and 
its  tongue  is  entreaty. 

Ah  !  when  the  infinite  burden  of  life  descendeth 
upon  us, 

Crushes  to  earth  our  hope,  and,  under  the  earth, 
in  the  grave-yard, — 

Then  it  is  good  to  pray  unto  God  ;  for  his  sor 
rowing  children 

Turns  he  ne'er  from  his  door,  but  he  heals  and 
helps  and  consoles  them. 

Yet  it  is  better  to  pray  when  all  things  are  pros 
perous  with  us, 

Pray  in  fortunate  days,  for  life's  most  beautiful 
Fortune 

Kneels  down  before  the  Eternal's  throne  ;  and, 
with  hands  interfolded, 

Praises  thankful  and  moved  the  only  giver  of 
blessings. 

Or  do  ye  know,  ye  children,  one  blessing  that 
comes  not  from  Heaven  ? 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     219 

What  has  mankind  forsooth,  the  poor  !  that  it 

has  not  received  ? 
Therefore,    fall    in    the    dust   and    pray  !      The 

seraphs  adoring 
Cover  with  pinions  six  their  face  in  the  glory  of 

him  who 
Hung  his  masonry  pendant  on  naught,  when  the 

world  he  created. 
Earth   declareth  his  might,  and  the  firmament 

uttereth  his  glory. 
Races  blossom  and  die,  and  stars  fall  downward 

from  heaven, 
Downward   like    withered   leaves ;    at   the   last 

stroke  of  midnight,  millenniums 
Lay  themselves  down   at  his  feet,  and  he  sees 

them,  but  counts  them  as  nothing. 
Who  shall  stand  in  his  presence  ?    The  wrath  of 

the  judge  is  terrific, 
Casting  the  insolent   down  at  a  glance.     When 

he  speaks  in  his  anger 
Hillocks  skip  like  the  kid,  and  mountains  leap 

like  the  roe-buck. 


220        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Yet, — why  are    ye   afraid,  ye  children  ?      This 

awful  avenger, 
Ah  !  is  a  merciful  God  !     God's  voice  was  not 

in  the  earthquake 
Not  in  the  fire,  nor  the  storm,  but  it  was  in  the 

whispering  breezes. 
Love  is  the  root  of  creation  ;  God's  essence  ; 

worlds  without  number 
Lie  in  his  bosom  like  children  ;  he  made  them 

for  this  purpose  only. 
Only  to  love  and  to  be  loved  again,  he  breathed 

forth  his  spirit 
Into  the  slumbering  dust,  and  upright  standing, 

it  laid  its 
Hand  on  its  heart,  and  felt  it  was  warm  with  a 

flame  out  of  heaven. 
Quench,  O  quench  not  that  flame  !     It  is  the 

breath  of  your  being. 
Love  is  life,  but  hatred  is  death.     Not  father, 

nor  mother 
Loved  you,  as  God  has  loved  you  ;  for  *fc  was 

that  you  may  be  happy 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     221 

Gave  he  his  only  son.     When  he  bowed  down 

his  head  in  the  death-hour 
Solemnized  Love  its  triumph  ;  the  sacrifice  then 

was  completed. 
Lo  !  then  was  rent  on  a  sudden  the  vail  of  the 

temple,  dividing 
Earth  and  heaven  apart,  and  the  dead  from  their 

sepulchres  rising 
Whispered  with  pallid  lips  and  low  in  the  ears 

of  each  other 
Th'  answer,  but  dreamed  of  before,  to  creation's 

enigma, — Atonement  ! 
Depths  of  Love  are  Atonement's  depths,  for 

Love  is  Atonement. 
Therefore,    child    of  mortality,  love   thou   the 

merciful  Father ; 
Wish  what  the  Holy  One  wishes,  and  not  from 

fear,  but  affection ; 
Fear  is  the  virtue  of  slaves  ;  but  the  heart  that 

loveth  is  willing  ; 
Perfect  was  before  God,  and  perfect  is  Love,, 

and  Love  only. 


222        BALLADS  AND    OTHER   POEMS. 

Lovest  them  God  as  thou  oughtest,  then  lovest 

thou  likewise  thy  brethren  ; 
One  is  the  sun  in  heaven,  and  one,  only  one,  is 

Love  also. 
Bears  not  each  human  figure  the  godlike  stamp 

on  his  forehead  ? 
Readest  thou  not  in  his  face  thine  origin  ?     Is 

he  not  sailing 
Lost  like  thyself  on  an  ocean  unknown,  and  is 

he  not  guided 
By   the   same    stars   that   guide    thee  ?      Why 

shouldst  thou  hate  then  thy  brother  ? 
Hateth  he  thee,   forgive  !     For  't  is  sweet  to 

stammer  one  letter 
Of  the  Eternal's  language  ; — on  earth  it  is  called 

Forgiveness  ! 
Knowest  thou  Him,  who  forgave,  with  the  crown 

of  thorns  round  his  temples  ? 
Earnestly  prayed  for  his  foes,  for  his  murderers  ? 

Say,  dost  thou  know  him  ? 
Ah  !  thou  confessest  his  name,  so  follow  like 
wise  his  example, 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     223 

Think   of  thy  brother  no   ill,  but  throw  a  veh 

over  his  failings, 
Guide    the    erring    aright  ;    for    the    good,  the 

heavenly  shepherd 
Took  the  lost  lamb  in  his  arms,  and  bore  it  back 

to  its  mother. 
This  is  the  fruit  of  Love,  and  it  is  by  its  fruits 

that  we  know  it. 
Love  is  the  creature's  welfare,  with  God  ;  but 

Love  among  mortals 
Is  but  an  endless  sigh  !     He  longs,  and  endures, 

and  stands  waiting, 
Suffers  and  yet  rejoices,  and  smiles  with  tears 

on  his  eyelids. 
Hope, — so  is  called  upon  earth,  his  recompense. 

—Hope,  the  befriending, 

• 

Does  what  she  can,  for  she  points  evermore  up 

to  heaven,  and  faithful 
Plunges  her  anchor's  peak  in  the  depths  of  tho 

grave,  and  beneath  it 
Paints  a  more  beautiful  world,  a  dim,  but  a 

sweet  play  of  shadows  ! 


224        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Races,    better   than   we,  have   leaned   on   hei 

wavering  promise, 
Having  naugnt  else  beside  Hope.     Then  praise 

we  our  Father  in  heaven, 
Him,  who  has  given  us  more  ;  for  to  us  has 

Hope  been  illumined, 
Groping  no  longer  in  night ;  she  is  Faith,  she  is 

living  assurance. 
Faith  is  enlightened  Hope  ;  she  is  light,  is  the 

eye  of  affection, 
Dreams  of  the  longing  interprets,  and  carves 

their  visions  in  marble. 
Faith  is  the  sun  of  life  ;  and  her  countenance 

shines  like  the  Prophet's, 
For  she  has  looked  upon  God ;  the  heaven  on 

its  stable  foundation 
Draws  she  with  chains  down  to  earth,  and  the 

New  Jerusalem  sinketh 
Splendid  with  portals  twelve  in  golden  vapors 

descending. 
There  enraptured  she  wanders,  and  looks  at  the 

figures  majestic. 


CHILDREN  DF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     225 

F^ars  not  the  winged   crowd,  in   the  midst  of 

them  all  is  her  homestead. 
Therefore  love  and  believe  ;  for  works  will  fol 

low  spontaneous 
Even  as  day  does  the  sun  ;  the  Right  from  the 

Good  is  an  offspring, 
Love   in  a  bodily  shape  ;  and  Christian  works 

are  no  more  than 

Animate  Love  and  faith,  as  flowers  are  the  ani 
mate  spring-tide. 
Works  do  follow  us  all  unto  God  ;   there  stand 

and  bear  witness 
Not  what  they  seemed, — but  what  they  were 

only.      Blessed  is  he  who 
Hears  their  confession  secure  ;  they  are  mute 

upon  earth  until  death's  hand 
Opens   the  mouth   of  the  silent.     Ye  children, 

does  Death  e'er  alarm  you  ? 
Death  is  the  brother  of  Love,  twin-brothe)  U  he, 

and  is  only 
More  austere  to  behold.     With  a  kiss  upop  'ius 

that  are  fadin 


726        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Takes  he  the  soul  and  departs,  and  rocked  in 

the  arms  of  affection, 
Places  tht  '-ansomed  child,  new  born,  Tore  the 

face  of  its  father. 
Sounds  of  his  coming  already  I  hear, — see  dimly 

his  pinions, 
Swart  as  the  night,  but  with  stars  strewn  upon 

them  1     I  fear  not  before  him. 
Death  is  only  release,  and  in  mercy  is  mute. 

On  his  bosom 
Freer  breathes,  in  its  coolness,  my  breast ;  and 

face  to  face  standing 
Look  I  on  God  as  he  is,  a  sun  unpolluted  by 

vapors  ; 
Look  on  the  light  of  the  ages  I  loved,  the  spirits 

majestic, 
Nobler,  better  than  I ;  they  stand  by  the  throne 

all  transfigured, 
Vested  in  white,  and  with  harps  of  gold,  and 

are  singing  an  anthem, 
Writ  in  the  climate  of  heaven,  in  the  language 

spoken  by  angels. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER      22? 

Vou,  in  like  manner,  ye  children   beloved,  hi 

one  day  *hall  gather, 
Never  forgets  he  the  weary  ; — then  welcome,  ye 

loved  ones,  hereafter  ! 

Meanwhile  forget  not  the  keeping  of  vows,  for 
get  not  the  promise, 
Wander  from  holiness  onward  to  holiness ;  earth 

shall  ye  heed  not ; 
Earth  is  but  dust  and  heaven  is  light ;  I  have 

pledged  you  to  heaven. 
God  of  the  Universe,  hear  me  !  thou  fountain  of 

Love  everlasting, 
Hark  to  the  voice  of  thy  servant  !     I  send  up 

my  prayer  to  thy  heaven  ! 
Let  me  hereafter  not  miss  at  thy  throne  one 

spirit  of  all  these, 
Whom  thou  hast  given  me  here  !     I  have  loved 

them  all  like  a  father. 
May  they  bear   witness  for  me,  that   I  taught 

them  the  way  of  salvation, 
Faithfal,  so  far  as  I  knew  of  thy  word  ;  again 

may  they  know  me, 


236        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Fall  on  their  Teacher's  breast,  and  before  thy 

face  may  I  place  them, 
Pure  as  they  now  are,  but  only  more  tried,  and 

exclaiming  with  gladness, 
Father,  lo  !  I  am  here,  and  the  children,  whom 

thou  hast  given  me  1  " 


Weeping  he  spake  in  these  words  ;  and  now 

at  the  beck  of  the  old  man 
Knee  against  knee  they  knitted  a  wreath  round 

the  altar's  enclosure. 

Kneeling  he  read  then  the  prayers  of  the  con 
secration,  and  softly 
With  him  the  children  read  ;  at  the  close,  with 

tremulous  accents, 
Asked  he  the  peace  of  heaven,  a  benediction 

upon  them. 
Now  should  have  ended  his  task  for  the  day ; 

the  following  Sunday 
Was  for  the   young   appointed  to  eat  of  tht 

Lord's  holy  Supper. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER,     229 

Sudden,  as  struck  from  the  clouds,  stood  the 
Teacher  silent  and  laid  his 

Hand  on  his  forehead,  and  cast  his  looks  up 
ward  ;  while  thoughts  high  and  holy 

Flew  through  the  midst  of  his  soul,  and  his  eyes 
glanced  with  wonderful  brightness. 

"  On  the  next  Sunday,  who  knows  !  perhaps  I 
shall  rest  in  the  grave-yard  ! 

Some  one  perhaps  of  yourselves,  a  lily  broken 
untimely, 

Bow  down  his  head  to  the  earth  ;  why  delay  I  ? 
the  hour  is  accomplished. 

Warm  is  the  heart ; — I  will  so  !  for  to-day  grows 
the  harvest  of  heaven. 

What  I  began  accomplish  I  now  ;  for  what  fail 
ing  therein  is 

I,  the  old  man,  will  answer  to  God  and  the 
reverend  father. 

Say  to  me  only,  ye  children,  ye  denizens  new- 
come  in  heaven, 

Are  ye  ready  this  day  to  eat  of  the  bread  of 
Atonement  ? 


230        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

What  it  denoteth,  that  know  ye  full  well,  I  hava 
told  it  you  often. 

Of  the  new  covenant  a  symbol  it  is,  of  Atone 
ment  a  token, 

Stablished  between  earth  and  heaven.  Man  by 
his  sins  and  transgressions 

Far  has  wandered  from  God,  from  his  essence. 
'T  was  in  the  beginning 

Fast  by  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  he  fell,  and  it 
hangs  its  crown  o'er  the 

Fall  to  this  day  ;  in  the  Thought  is  the  Fall ; 
in  the  Heart  the  Atonement. 

Infinite  is  the  fall,  the  Atonement  infinite  like 
wise. 

See  !  behind  me,  as  far  as  the  old  man  re 
members,  and  forward, 

Far  as  Hope  in  her  flight  can  reach  with  her 
wearied  pinions, 

Sin  and  Atonement  incessant  go  through  the 
lifetime  of  mortals. 

Brought  forth  is  sin  full-grown ;  but  Atone 
ment  sleeps  in  our  bosoms 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LOAD'S  SUPPER.     231 

Still  as  the  cradled  babe  ;  and  dreams  of  heaven 

and  of  angels, 
Cannot  awake  to  sensation  ;  is  like  the  tones  in 

the  harp's  strings, 

Spirits  imprisoned,  that  wait  evermore  the  de 
liverer's  finger. 
Therefore,  ye  children  beloved,  descended  the 

Prince  of  Atonement, 
Woke  the  slumberer  from  sleep,  and  she  stands 

now  with  eyes  all  resplendent, 
Bright  as  the  vault  of  the  sky,  and  battles  with 

Sin  and  o'ercomes  her. 
Downward  to  earth  he  came  and  transfigured, 

thence  reascended, 
Not  from  the  heart  in  like  wise,  for  there  he  still 

lives  in  the  Spirit, 
Loves  and  atones  evermore.      So  long  as  Time 

is,  is  Atonement. 
Therefore   with   reverence  receive  this  day  her 

visible  token. 
Tokens  are  dead  if  the  things  do  not  live.     The 

light  everlasting 


232        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Unto  the  blind  man  is  not,  but  is  born  of  the 

eye  that  has  vision. 
Neither  in  bread  nor  in  wine,  but  in  the  heart 

that  is  hallowed 
Lieth  forgiveness  enshrined  ;  the  intention  alone 

of  amendment 
Fruits  of  the  earth  ennobles  to  heavenly  things, 

and  removes  all 
Sin  and  the  guerdon  of  sin.     Only  Love  with 

his  arms  wide  extended, 
Penitence  weeping  and  praying ;  the  Will  that 

is  tried,  and  whose  gold  flows 
Purified  forth  from  the  flames  ;  in  a  word,  man 
kind  by  Atonement 
Breaketh    Atonement's    bread,    and    drinketh 

Atonement's  wine-cup. 
But  he  who  cometh  up  hither,  unworthy,  with 

hate  in  his  bosom, 
Scoffing  at  men  and  at  God,  is  guilty  of  Christ's 

blessed  body, 
And  the  Redeemer's  blood  !     To  himself   he 

eateth  and  drinketh 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD^  SUPPE&.     +« 

Death  and  doom  !     And  from  this,  preserve  us, 

thou  heavenly  Father  ! 
Are  ye  ready,  ye  children,  to  eat  of  the  breat* 

of  Atonement  ?  " 

Thus  with  emotion  he  asked,  and  together  an 
swered  the  children 
Yes  !  with  deep  sobs  interrupted.     Then  reatf 

he  the  due  supplications, 
Read  the  Form  of  Communion,  and  in  chimed 

the  organ  and  anthem  ; 
O  !   Holy  Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away  our 

transgressions, 
Hear  us  !  give  us  thy  peace  !  have  mercy,  have 

mercy  upon  us  ! 
Th'  old  man,  with  trembling  hand,  and  heavenly 

pearls  on  his  eyelids, 
Filled   now  the  chalice    and    paten,   and  dealt 

round  the  mystical  symbols. 
O  !  then  seemed  it  to  me,  as  if  God,  with  the 

broad  eye  of  mid-day, 
Clearer  looked  in  at  the  windows,  and  all  th* 

trees  in  the  churchyard 


234        BALLADS  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Bowed  down  their  summits  of  green,  and  the 

grass  on  the  graves  'gan  to  shiver. 
But  in  the  children,  (I  noted  it  well ;  I  knew  it) 

there  ran  a 
Tremor  of  holy  rapture  along  through  their  icy« 

cold  members. 
Decked  like  an  altar  before  them,  there  stood 

the  green  earth,  and  above  it 
Heaven  opened  itself,  as  of  old  before  Stephen  ; 

there  saw  they 
Radiant  in  glory  the  Father,  and  on  his  right 

hand  the  Redeemer. 
Under  them  hear  they  the  clang  of  harpstrings, 

and  angels  from  gold  clouds 
Beckon  to  them  like   brothers,   and    fan  with 

their  pinions  of  purple. 


Closed   was   the   Teacher's   task,    and    with 

heaven  in  their  hearts  and  their  faces, 
Up  rose  the  children  all,  and  each  bowed  him, 
weeping  full  sorely, 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.     235 

Djxvnward  to  kiss   that  reverend  hand,  but  all 

of  them  pressed  he 
Moved  to  his  bosom,  and  laid,  with  a  prayer, 

his  hands  full  of  blessings, 
Now  on  the  holy  breast,  and  now  on  the  inno 

cent  tresses. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 


UNDER  a  spreading  chestnut  tree 
The  village  smithy  stands  ; 

The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 
With  large  and  sinewy  hands  ; 

And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan  ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat, 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 


2X>  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow  ; 

Vou  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow, 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door  ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing  floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys  ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 


THE    VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH.  241 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice. 

Singing  in  Paradise  ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies  ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 


Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 
Each  evening  sees  it  close  ; 

Something  attempted,  something  done, 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friendt 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught  ! 

Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought  ; 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 

Each  burning  deed  and  thought  J 
16 


ENDYMION. 


THE  rising  moon  has  hid  the  stars ; 

Her  level  rays,  like  golden  bars, 
Lie  on  the  landscape  green, 
With  shadows  brown  between 

And  silver  white  the  river  gleams, 
As  if  Diana,  in  her  dreams, 
Had  dropt  her  silver  bow 
Upon  the  meadows  low. 

On  such  a  tranquil  night  as  this, 
She  woke  Endymion  with  a  kiss, 
When,  sleeping  in  the  grove, 
He  dreamed  not  of  her  love. 


ENDYMION.  243 

Like  Dian's  kiss,  unasked,  unsought, 
Love  gives  itself,  but  is  not  bought ; 

Nor  voice,  nor  sound  betrays 

Its  deep,  impassioned  gaze. 


It  comes, — the  beautiful,  the  free. 
The  crown  of  all  humanity, — 

In  silence  and  alone 

To  seek  the  elected  one. 

It  lifts  the  boughs,  whose  shadows  deep, 
Are  Life's  oblivion,  the  soul's  sleep, 
And  kisses  the  closed  eyes 
Of  him,  who  slumbering  lies. 

O,  weary  hearts  !  O,  slumbering  eyes  \ 
O,  drooping  souls,  whose  destinies 

Are  fraught  with  fear  and  pain, 

Ye  shall  be  loved  again  ! 


«44  MISCELLANEOUS. 

No  one  is  so  accursed  by  fate, 
No  one  so  utterly  desolate, 

But  some  heart,  though  unknown, 

Responds  unto  his  own. 


Responds, — as  if  with  unseen  wings, 

A  breath  from  heaven  had  touched  its  strings 

And  whispers,  in  its  song, 
"  Where  hast  thou  stayed  so  long  ?  " 


FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF   PFIZER. 


A  YOUTH,  light-hearted  and  content, 
I  wander  through  the  world  ; 

Here,  Arab-like,  is  pitched  my  tent 
And  straight  again  is  furled. 

Yet  oft  I  dream,  that  once  a  wife 
Close  in  my  heart  was  locked, 

And  in  the  sweet  repose  of  life 
A  blessed  child  I  rocked. 

I  wake  !     Away  that  dream, — away  f 

Too  long  did  it  remain  ! 
So  long,  that  both  by  night  and  day 

It  ever  comes  again. 


46  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  end  lies  ever  in  my  thought ; 

To  a  grave  so  cold  and  deep 
The  mother  beautiful  was  brought ; 

Then  dropt  the  child  asleep. 

But  now  the  dream  is  wholly  o'er, 

I  bathe  mine  eyes  and  see ; 
And  wander  through  the  world  once  more, 

A  youth  so  light  and  free. 

Two  locks, — and  they  are  wondrous  fair, — 

Left  me  that  vision  mild  ; 
The  brown  is  from  the  mother's  hair, 

The  blond  is  from  the  child. 

And  when  I  see  that  lock  of  gold, 

Pale  grows  the  evening-red  ; 
And  when  the  dark  lock  I  behold, 

I  wish  that  I  were  dead. 


IT  IS  NOT  ALWAYS  MAY. 


No  hay  pajaros  en  los  nidos  de  antaiio. 

Spanish  Provetk 

THE  sun  is  bright, — the  air  is  clear, 
The  darting  swallows  soar  and  sing, 

And  from  the  stately  elms  I  hear 
The  blue-bird  prophesying  Spring. 


Sc  blue  yon  winding  river  flows, 
It  seems  an  outlet  from  the  sky, 

Where  waiting  till  the  west  wind  blows, 
The  freighted  clouds  at  anchor  lie. 


348  MISCELLANEOUS. 

All  things  are  new  ; — the  buds,  the  leaves, 
That  gild  the  elm-tree's  nodding  crest, 

And  even  the  nest  beneath  the  eaves  ;— 
There  are  no  birds  in  last  year's  nest ! 

All  things  rejoice  in  youth  and  love, 
The  fulness  of  their  first  delight  ! 

And  learn  from  the  soft  heavens  above 
The  melting  tenderness  of  night. 

Maiden,  that  read'st  this  simple  rhyme, 
Enjoy  thy  youth,  it  will  not  stay  ; 

Enjoy  the  fragrance  of  thy  prime, 
For  O  !  it  is  not  always  May  ! 

Enjoy  the  Spring  of  Love  and  Youth, 
To  some  good  angel  leave  the  rest  ; 

For  Time  will  teach  thee  soon  the  truth, 
There  are  no  birds  in  last  year's  nest ! 


THE  RAINY  DAY 


THE  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  \ 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall, 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 


My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 
My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldering 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary. 


250  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Be  still,  sad  heart  !  and  cease  repining  ; 
Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining ; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all, 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 

Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 


GOD'S-ACRE. 


I  LrKE  that  ancient  Saxon  phrase,  whicn  calls 
The  burial-ground  God's- Acre  !     It  is  just ; 

It  consecrates  each  grave  within  its  walls. 
And  breathes    a   benison   o'er   the  sleeping 
dust 

God's- Acre  !     Yes,  that  blessed  name  imparts 
Comfort  to  those,   who   in  the   grave  have 

sown 
The   seed,    that    they  had    garnered   in   their 

hearts, 
Their  bread  of  life,  alas  !  no  more  their  own. 


352  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Into  its  furrows  shall  we  all  be  cast, 

In  the  sure  faith,  that  we  shall  rise  again 

At   the   great  harvest,  when  the    arch-angel'j 

blast 
Shall  winnow,  like  a  fan,  the  chaff  and  graia 

Then  shall  the  good  stand  in  immortal  bloom, 
In  the  fair  gardens  of  that  second  birth  ; 

And  each  bright  blossom,  mingle  its  perfume 
With  that  of  flowers,  which  never  bloomed 
on  earth. 

With  thy  rude  ploughshare,  Death,  turn  up  the 

sod, 

And  spread  the  furrow  for  the  seed  we  sow  ; 
This  is  the  field  and  Acre  of  our  God. 

This   is   the    place,  where    human    harvests 
grow  I 


TO  THE  RIVER  CHARLES. 


RIVER  !  that  in  silence  windest 

Through  the  meadows,  bright  and  free, 

Till  at  length  thy  rest  thou  findest 
/n  the  bosom  of  the  sea  ! 

Four  long  years  of  mingled  feeling, 
Half  in  rest,  and  half  in  strife, 

I  have  seen  thy  waters  stealing 
Onward,  like  the  stream  of  life. 

Thou  has  taught  me,  Silent  River  I 
Many  a  lesson,  deep  and  long ; 

Thou  hast  been  a  generous  giver  ; 
I  can  give  thee  but  a  song. 


254  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Oft  in  sadness  and  in  illness, 

I  have  watched  thy  current  glide, 

Till  the  beauty  of  its  stillness 
Overflowed  me,  like  a  tide. 


And  in  better  hours  and  brighter, 
When  I  saw  thy  waters  gleam, 

I  have  felt  my  heart  beat  lighter, 
And  leap  onward  with  thy  stream. 


Not  for  this  alone  I  love  thee, 
Nor  because,  thy  waves  of  blue 

From  celestial  seas  above  thee 
Take  their  own  celestial  hue. 


Where  yon  shadowy  woodlands  hide  thee} 

And  thy  waters  disappear, 
Friends  I  love  have  dwelt  beside  thee, 

And  have  made  thy  margin  dear. 


TO    THE  RIVER    CHARLES.  255 

More  than  this  ; — thy  name  reminds  me 
Of  three  friends,  all  true  and  tried  ; 

And  that  name,  like  magic,  binds  me 
Closer,  closer  to  thy  side. 

Friends  my  soul  with  joy  remembers ! 

How  like  quivering  flames  they  start* 
When  I  fan  the  living  embers 

On  the  hearth-stone  of  my  heart ! 

'T  is  for  this,  thou  Silent  River  ! 

That  my  spirit  leans  to  thee  ; 
Thou  hast  been  a  generous  giver. 

Take  this  idle  song  from  rne. 


BLIND  BARTIMEUS. 


BLIND  Bartimeus  at  the  gates 
Of  Jericho  in  darkness  waits  ; 
He  hears  the  crowd  ;  —  he  hears  a  breath 
Say,  "  It  is  Christ  of  Nazareth  !  " 
And  calls,  in  tones  of  agony, 
v,  e\€ij<r6v  fie  ! 


The  thronging  multitudes  increase  ; 
Blind  Bartimeus,  hold  thy  peace  ! 
But  still,  above  the  noisy  crowd, 
The  beggar's  cry  is  shrill  and  loud  ; 
Until  they  say,  "  He  calleth  thee  !  " 
Sdpo-ei,  eyetpai,  (jxovei  are  / 


BLIND  BARTIMEUS.  257 

Then  saith  the  Christ,  as  silent  stands 

The  crowd,  "  What  wilt  thou  at  my  hands?" 

And  he  replies,  "  O  give  me  light  ! 

Rabbi,  restore  the  blind  man's  sight. 

And  Jesus  answers,  " 

'H  7n'<7Tt<?  crov  aecrcoKe  <ref 


Ye  that  have  eyes,  yet  cannot  see, 

In  darkness  and  in  misery, 

Recall  those  mighty  Voices  Thre*,. 


eyetpw, 
H  TTtCTTt?  trov  <re(ra)ice 


THE  GOBLET  OF  LIFE. 


FILLED  is  Life's  goblet  to  the  brim  ; 
And  though  my  eyes  with  tears  are  dim, 
I  see  its  sparkling  bubbles  swim, 
And  chaunt  a  melancholy  hymn 
With  solemn  voice  and  slow. 


No  purple  flowers,— no  garlands  green, 
Conceal  the  goblet's  shade  or  sheen, 
Nor  maddening  draughts  of  Hippocrene, 
Like  gleams  of  sunshine,  flash  between 
Thick  leaves  of  mistletoe. 


THE  GOBLET  OF  LIFE.  259 

This  goblet,  wrought  with  curious  art, 
Is  filled  with  waters,  that  upstart, 
When  the  deep  fountains  of  the  heart, 
By  strong  convulsions  rent  apart, 
Are  running  all  to  waste. 

And  as  it  mantling  passes  round, 
With  fennel  is  it  wreathed  and  crowned, 
Whose  seed  and  foliage  sun-imbrowned 
Are  in  its  waters  steeped  and  drowned, 
And  give  a  bitter  taste. 

Above  the  lowly  plants  it  towers, 
The  fennel,  with  its  yellow  flowers, 
And  in  an  earlier  age  than  ours 
Was  gifted  with  the  wondrous 
Lost  vision  to  restore. 


It  gave  new  strength,  and  fearless 
And  gladiators,  fierce  and  rude, 
Mingled  it  in  their  daily  food  ; 


i6o  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  he  who  battled  and  subdued, 
A  wreath  of  fennel  wore. 

Then  in  Life's  goblet  freely  press, 
The  leaves  that  give  it  bitterness. 
Nor  prize  the  colored  waters  less, 
For  in  thy  darkness  and  distress 

New  light  and  strength  they  give ! 

And  he  who  has  not  learned  to  know 
How  false  its  sparkling  bubbles  show, 
How  bitter  are  the  drops  of  woe, 
With  which  its  brim  may  overflow, 
He  has  not  learned  to  live. 

The  prayer  of  Ajax  was  for  light ; 
Through  all  that  dark  and  desperate  fight, 
The  blackness  of  that  noonday  night, 
He  asked  but  the  return  of  sight, 
To  see  his  foeman's  face. 


THE   GOBLET  OF  LIFE.  *6i 

Let  our  unceasing,  earnest  prayer 
Be,  too,  for  light,— for  strength  to  bear 
Our  portion  of  the  weight  of  caref 
That  crushes  into  dumb  despair 
One  half  the  human  race. 

O  suffering,  sad  humanity! 

0  ye  afflicted  ones,  who  lie 
Steeped  to  the  lips  in  misery, 
Longing,  and  yet  afraid  to  die, 

Patient,  though  sorely  tried  ! 

1  pledge  you  in  this  cup  of  grief, 
Where  floats  the  fennel's  bitter  leaf! 
The  Battle  of  our  Life  is  brief, 

The  alarm, — the  struggle, — the  relief,— 
Then  sleep  we  side  by  side. 


MAIDENHOOD. 


MAIDEN  !  with  the  meek,  brown  eyes, 
In  whose  orbs  a  shadow  lies 
Like  the  dusk  in  evening  skies  ! 

Thou  whose  locks  outshine  the  sun, 
Golden  tresses,  wreathed  in  one, 
As  the  braided  streamlets  run  ! 

Standing,  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet  t 


MAIDENHOOD.  26$ 

Gazing,  with  a  timid  glance, 
On  the  brooklet's  swift  advance, 
On  the  river's  broad  expanse ! 


Deep  and  still,  that  gliding  stream 
Beautiful  to  thee  must  seem, 
As  the  river  of  a  dream. 

Then  why  pause  with  indecision, 
When  bright  angels  in  thy  vision 
Beckon  thee  to  fields  Elysian  ? 

Seest  thou  shadows  sailing  by, 
As  the  dove,  with  startled  eye, 
Sees  the  falcon's  shadow  fly  ? 

Hearest  thou  voices  on  the  shore, 
That  our  ears  perceive  no  more, 
Deafened  by  the  cataract's  roar  ? 


264  MISCELLANEOUS. 

O,  thou  child  of  many  prayers ! 

Life  hath  quicksands, — Life  hath  snares 

Care  and  age  come  unawares  ! 

Like  the  swell  of  some  sweet  tune, 
Morning  rises  into  noon, 
May  glides  onward  into  June. 


Childhood  is  the  bough,  where  slumbered 
Birds  and  blossoms  many-numbered  ; — 
Age,  that  bough  with  snows  encumbered. 

Gather,  then,  each  flower  that  grows, 
When  the  young  heart  overflows, 
To  embalm  that  tent  of  snows. 


Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand  ; 

Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 

One  touch  of  that  magic  wand. 


MAIDENHOOD.  26$ 

Bear  through  sorrow,  wrong,  and  ruth, 
In  thy  heart  the  dew  of  youth, 
On  thy  lips  the  smile  of  truth. 

O,  that  dew,  like  balm,  shall  steal 
Into  wounds,  that  cannot  heal, 
Even  as  sleep  our  eyes  doth  seal ; 

And  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  dart 
Into  many  a  sunless  heart, 
For  a  smile  of  God  thou  art 


EXCELSIOR. 


THE  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast, 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  passed 
A  youth,  who  bore,  'mid  snow  and  ice, 
A  banner  with  the  strange  device 
Excelsior  ! 


His  brow  was  sad ;  his  eye  beneath, 
Flashed  like  a  faulchion  from  its  sheath, 
And  like  a  silver  clarion  rung 
The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue, 
Excelsior  1 


EXCELSIOR.  36* 

In  happy  homes  he  saw  the  light 

Of  household   fires  gleam  warm  and 

bright ; 

Above,  the  spectral  glaciers  shone. 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  groan, 
Excelsior ! 


'*  Try  not  the  Pass !  "  the  old  man  said  ; 

"  Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead, 
The  roaring  torrent  is  deep  and  wide 
And  loud  that  clarion  voice  replied 
Excelsior ! 


"  O  stay,"  the  maiden  said,  "  and  rest 
Thy  weary  head  upon  this  breast !  " 
A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye, 
But  still  he  answered,  with  a  sigh, 
Excelsior ! 


268  MISCELLANEOUS. 

"  Beware  the  pine-tree's  withered  branch  ! 
Beware  the  awful  avalanche  !  " 
This  was  the  peasant's  last  Good-night, 
A  voice  replied,  far  up  the  height, 
Excelsior ! 


At  break  of  day,  as  heavenward 
The  pious  monks  of  Saint  Bernard 
Uttered  the  oft-repeated  prayer, 
A  voice  cried  through  the  startled  air 
Excelsior ! 


A  traveller,  by  the  faithful  hound, 
Half-buried  in  the  snow  was  found, 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  of  ice 
That  banner  with  the  strange  device 
Excelsior ! 


EXCELSIOR. 

There  in  the  twilight  cold  and  gray, 
Lifeless,  but  beautiful,  he  lay, 
And  from  the  sky,  serene  and  far, 
A  voice  fell,  like  a  falling  star, 


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